


Bratishka: Little Brother

by Valinde (Valyria)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Blow Jobs, Castiel Whump, Community: deancas_xmas, Detective Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Lawyer Castiel, M/M, Michael Lucifer and Anna have russian names, Russian Mafia, Tattooed Castiel, Temporary Character Death, world's most unsexy shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:38:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyria/pseuds/Valinde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean thinks he knows pretty much everything there is to know about his best friend Castiel Novak - he's a smart, gorgeous DA who probably lets Dean get away with more than he should to see the bad guy locked up - but it turns out Cas is hiding some dark family secrets.</p><p>Cop Dean/Lawyer Cas AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carmexgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmexgirl/gifts).



> Written for the following prompt: _"He was the hard nosed detective with a commitment problem and penchant for not playing by the rules, whilst he was the lawyer trying to get him out of all kinds of scrapes and helping him with his cases when he could. Together, they were dynamite!"_
> 
>  
> 
> Please don't add this to goodreads.

 

 

* * *

 

 

***

“You couldn’t wait _ten minutes_ Winchester?”

Cas’s scowl is audible.

Dean doesn’t need to look up from his desk to know that he’ll have his shoulders squared and his ever-present briefcase clutched in a tight grip that’s vaguely threatening. Like he might bludgeon someone to death with it. Dean takes a really big bite of his bear claw, stuffing his mouth with as much pastry as possible, before glancing up with a practiced expression of innocent stupidity on his face. “Mrrhh?” he mumbles dumbly, intentionally giving Cas a good view of his half chewed breakfast as he gauges just how angry the DA is.

Andddd he’s pissed.

He’s got that epic scowl and squint combo of his going on, but Dean takes courage in the fact that he hasn’t dragged him in front of Walker for his little melt-down. If he was _really_ angry, he’d have gotten the Lieutenant in on it. Winding Walker up and letting him loose on Dean was his go-to for when Dean really fucked up. He knew how much they hated each other. Used it to his own evil, _lawyery_ advantage.

Cas crosses his arms and his squint intensifies. Dean gives up on the innocent act and swallows, switching into suck-up mode. Licking his lips to get rid of powdered sugar and pastry crumbs, he gives Cas his most charming smile. “Aw, c’mon Cas…” he wheedles. Cas raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “ _Novak.”_ Dean amends. “You know I made the right call. Ten minutes and that dick woulda torched the stuff.”

Cas huffs. “You don’t know that, and since you entered without a warrant, the entire case might be thrown out.”

Dean licks sugar off his fingers. “He gave verbal consent for the search.”

“You _kicked in his door.”_

Dean shrugs. “Door was jammed.” He leans back in his chair and glances across his desk towards his partner. “He invited us in though. Isn’t that right Bobby?”

The older man nods. “Mhmm. Heard it myself. Definitely gave us the good to go. Polite as you please. Offered us tea and scones.”

Cas shoots the older man a skeptical look. “And you’re willing to _testify_ to that fact Detective Singer?”

Bobby grunts. “Course.”

Dean gives Cas a blinding smile and spreads his hands wide. “See? Nothing to worry about. Your case is iron clad man.” He wraps his knuckles against his desk for emphasis.

Cas doesn’t seem convinced. “It’s like you _enjoy_ making my job as difficult as possible.” he mutters.

Dean gives him his best impersonation of Sam’s puppy dog eyes. “Aw, don’t be like that man. How ‘bout I treat you to lunch to celebrate another dick locked up and let you bitch out the details over your salad?”

Cas glares down his nose at Dean. Dean graciously remains seated so he has the height advantage to do so. “You’re going to have to buy me something a lot better than a _salad_ Winchester.” He pauses and draws himself up slightly like an affronted cat. “And I don’t _bitch_.”

Dean nods in agreement - but he does. He _really_ does. Jesus, Cas’s is almost as bad as Sammy. Must be a lawyer thing.

Bobby perks up at the talk of food, leaning across his desk, beard twitching like whiskers as he licks his lips. “Lunch?” he asks, eyes bright. “Dean’s paying? How about that new steak house couple’a blocks down?”

Cas’s mouth twitches into a tiny smile and his eyes slide towards Bobby. “I thought the Captain had you eating raw this week Singer?”

Bobby frowns and shoots a betrayed look at Dean. “Who told you that?” he asks, affronted.

Dean shrugs innocently and looks around for his bear claw, thinking to quickly finish it off before they head out.

“I’m a grown man!” Bobby insists. “The Captain ain’t got no say over my damn lunch!”

“Only your breakfast and dinner.” Dean mutters darkly as he realizes that the remaining half of his pastry is _gone –_ the plate bare save a few crumbs - and that his partner’s hands are suspiciously _powdery._

“What was that boy?” Bobby demands.

“Did you steal my bear claw?” Dean demands. Bobby swallows with a wide-eyed expression of witless confusion on his face. Dean glares. Bobby’s fucking terrible at playing innocent. He’s goddamn transparent. Also there’s icing in his beard. “I licked that I hope you know.” Dean tells his partner bitterly. “Sneezed on it too.”

Bobby wipes his mouth with the back of his hand in disgust. “Ugh.”

Cas sighs and glances pointedly at his flashy watch _._ “I have 43 minutes.” he tells Dean blandly. “Any longer and Naomi will have Samandiriel crying and Kevin suicidal again.”

Dean winces at the mention of Cas’s boss – the District Attorney has his full respect for the way she does her job – but she’s a downright _terrifying_ woman. How Cas deals with her on a daily basis, up close and personal as the Executive Assistant DA, is beyond his comprehension. He stands and grabs his jacket. “Well we can’t have that.”

Bobby lumbers to his feet beside him, sucking some sugar off his thumb. Dean shoots him a dark look. “I’m not shouting you lunch, pastry-thief.”

His partner scowls.

Cas rolls his eyes at them and flounces off towards the nearest exit, coat billowing behind him in a way that Dean pointedly does not admire.

They’ve missed the midday rush, but the steak place is new and schools are out for Christmas holidays, so it’s still crowded. And encrusted in tinsel. And there’s godawful _Christmas_ music playing. The food’s pretty good though, good enough that Cas doesn’t pull out his tablet to frown over as he eats. Bobby, unsurprisingly, clears his plate like a man half-starved. Or more accurately, a man that’s only had half a grapefruit and a few bites of purloined bear claw to keep him going.

As if she can _sense_ what he’s doing, Ellen calls and Bobby excuses himself to go have a rather heated conversation behind a festively decorated potted palm over by the men’s room.

Dean watches in amusement, catching the occasional hissed swear as Bobby placates his _girlfriend_ or whatever Captain Harvelle is to him, (it’s complicated and clarification would involve mental images that Dean, who’s known both of them since childhood, is eager to avoid.), while Cas works his way through his steak and order of fries. When Bobby notices him looking and shoots him a glare, Dean blows him a kiss just to be annoying, then turns his attention elsewhere.

Cas dunks a fry in ketchup and bites it neatly in half. Dean gives his friend, and his golden french fries, an appreciative once-over. For such a lean guy, he sure doesn’t scrimp on the carbs. Apart from jogging and walking to the subway, he doesn’t do any exercise at all, but you’d never guess from the way his expensive lawyer-y suit hugs his figure. Lucky bastard.

Dean burps into his fist and looks down at his own plate morosely. He’ll have to spend extra time in the gym tonight to work off those (delicious) onion rings. His metabolism at 31 just isn’t what it was at 21. Unlike his appetite, which continues to horrify friends and family alike. Dean casts a longing glance over the dessert menu that’s sticking up in the middle of the table. There’s opening specials on cake and pie. There’s even something called a ‘Christmas Spiced Apple Pie!’ (which sounds all kinds of amazing).

Dean sighs. He _loves_ apple pie… But he really shouldn’t. Just because he’s pretty much given up on ever finding anyone willing to put up with his shit long-term doesn’t mean he should let himself go entirely. His looks are about all he has going for him. Meaningful relationships might be out of the question, but hot hookups are still on the cards. As long as he doesn’t embrace the cop cliché too much and go crazy with the donuts and pie.

Although, Bobby _did_ eat half of his bear claw, so _really_ he’d be breaking even… And if he skipped ice cream after dinner tonight --

“Just order the pie.” Cas says, interrupting Dean’ calorie calculations and protein allotments.

Dean snaps his head up to stare at him. “What?”

Cas raises an eyebrow and smirks a little. “I can hear you overthinking from here.” he says. “Just order the pie and spend a few extra minutes picking up and putting down heavy things or whatever it is you do with your ‘Bro’ Benny at the gym.”

“Shuddup.” Dean mutters, blushing and rubbing at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “And Benny’s not my ‘Bro’.”

Cas clears his throat and then puts on a bayou accent. _“Heeeey Brother.”_ he drawls in an impersonation of Benny that’s frankly disturbing in its accuracy.

“Jesus. That’s creepy as all hell Cas. Never do that again.”

Cas waves him off. “He calls you ‘brother’,” he continues in his normal baritone rumble, “ergo he is your ‘bro’, bro.” He makes the air quotes and everything then somehow manages to eat a french fry smugly. He gets a smear of ketchup on his top lip though.

Dean shakes his head. “You know, I think you’re the most uncool person I’ve met in my entire life.” he tells Cas fondly.

“I’m ‘cool’.” Cas says. “I’m on the Department Social Club.”

“That’s basically like being the Captain of the Debating Team Cas.”

From the way he frowns in thought, Dean gets the feeling he’s about to spring to the defense of Debate Teams across the country and how they are both ‘cool’ (with finger quotes), and educational. He tries to change the subject “So, you give it a name yet?” he asks, and watches with glee as Cas’s face melts into a fierce scowl.

A few months previously Dean had randomly ended up giving Cas a kitten for his birthday. Sort of. It had just so happened that Dean had had a shoe box with a kitten in it on his desk when Cas had been passing by on his way to argue with Walker about some case or another, so naturally Dean had impulsively shoved it at him and said ‘Happy Birthday!’.

That Cas had accepted and kept the damn thing remained a constant source of amusement to Dean, Bobby, and most of the Homicide Department. Especially since the cat in question seemed to be a little shit.

“I refuse to.” Cas proclaims dramatically. “It’s an insufferable creature. This morning it ate my _bread_ Dean.” He gestures dramatically, nearly knocking over Dean’s beer. “Gnawed its way through the bag and gorged itself on nearly an entire loaf of organic rye.” He stabs a fry with his fork and glares. “I couldn’t have toast. Instead I had to eat that disgusting sugar cereal Gabriel left last time he visited.”

Dean’s never met Cas’s brother, but from the way he speaks about him, that’s probably a good thing. Although he _does_ leave awesome snacks secreted around Cas’s place when he visits. And there are photos of him with girls wearing only coconut shells and smiles on Cas’s fridge.

“And it keeps sneaking into my room when I’m sleeping and trying to suffocate me.” Cas continues bitterly.

Dean snorts. “What’s the matter Cas? Scared of a kitten?”

Cas sniffs. “It’s not a kitten. It’s nearly full grow and quite large enough to smother me in my sleep I assure you.”

“So you’re still calling it ‘Assbutt’ then?” Dean guesses, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

“Well, when it’s especially irritating I call it _Dean._ ” Cas replies.

Dean just smiles. “Aw, that’s sweet Cas. Naming your beloved pet after me.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

Bobby slides back into his seat. “Coulda told you that _years_ ago Novak.” he says. “And just on the down low - if anyone asks, I had a _salad_ for lunch _,_ without dressing. Capisce?”

Cas frowns. “I am not going to perjure myself to the Captain over an illicit T-bone on your behalf, Detective Singer.”

Bobby shakes his head and stares at Cas for a long moment before turning to give Dean a loaded look. “Dunno what the hell you see in this idjit boy.”

“I thought _I_ was the idiot?” Dean asks serenely.

“I have a very good professional relationship with Captain Harvelle based upon mutual trust and respect.” Cas insists. “I refuse to risk that over your clandestine eating habits.”

Dean smirks as his partner and his best friend glare at each other. For two people that on paper couldn’t be more different, they both have the same huffy short temper and sense of self-righteousness. They are scowling at each other in a way that almost makes them seem related. Lucky for them, Dean finds grumpy bastards kinda adorable.

Cas’s phone goes off and he sighs deeply before answering. For a long moment he just listens, the speaker squeaking as someone rants down the line at him. “Calm _down_ Samandiriel.” he says at length. “You know she isn’t _actually_ going to fire you…” He rolls his eyes and gestures at Dean and Bobby, indicating his need to leave. Dean mouths _have fun_ to him and he pouts before grabbing his briefcase and heading out of the restaurant, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder.

Dean and Bobby finish their lunch more leisurely, discussing the more pressing of their current caseload before walking back towards the precinct.

“How’s Sam going?” Bobby asks as they weave through the bumbling Christmas shoppers on the sidewalk. “Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

Dean shrugs. “The usual. Working too hard. He’s set on paying off those student loans within the year.”

Bobby grunts. “Can’t have much left can he? He had that scholarship and you covered most of his other expenses, and he’s been with that big shot firm, what 18 months now?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, he’s made a decent dent in it. Still. Even with me helping out, he didn’t exactly pick the best value college around, scholarship or not - 7 years there added up.”

Bobby hums. “So he’ll be sticking in LA then? Doing overtime? Not coming home for Christmas?”

Dean narrows his eyes. He and Bobby are close, have been partners going on 4 years and have known each other much longer. The older cop served in Vietam with Dean’s dad and has been a fairly permanent fixture in the Winchester’s lives. But he’s not the sort for idle personal conversation, even if he’s sort of an uncle figure to Sam and Dean. “Why?” Dean asks suspiciously.

Bobby sighs. “Might be Joanna’s mentioned him a time or two in her calls back home and Ellen might have maybe talked about… sorta… insisting the two of you come for Christmas dinner this year.”

Dean laughs. “Ah, little Jo’s still carrying a torch for young Sammy is she?”

“You wanna come or not?” Bobby huffs.

Dean frowns and pretends to think very hard. “Hmm. I dunno man – is the Captain gonna be serving celery sticks and tofurkey?”

“Ungrateful little...” Bobby mutters and punches him in the shoulder, pretty hard.

“I’m kidding!” Dean insists. “You know I’m always up for Ellen’s cooking. And I’m sure she won’t subject us normal folks to that awful shit she’s been forcing on you.”

Bobby lines up to take another swing, but Dean darts away. “Uh-uh! Too slow old man!” 

 

 ***

Sam _is_ planning on coming home for Christmas. He’s taken on extra shifts over the break, but he’s already booked a flight so he can be in New York for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, heading home the day after. It’s not much, but it’s something. And it’s not like the Winchesters have some big family thing he’s gonna miss out on by only being home for a few days. With dad gone it’s just the two of them. The last few Christmases and thanksgivings Sam’s actually gone with Jess to her family’s get togethers, but with them ‘on a break’ as he puts it, Sam’s flying solo. (Dean’s really not sure what’s going on there. They’ve ‘paused’ their relationship while Sam’s working in LA because of the distance, but Sam still calls her every few days and Dean for the most part tries to refrain from commenting, after all, it’s not like he’s in a position to judge - his longest relationship to date lasted a whole six weeks.)

So yeah, dinner with Bobby and the Harvelles might be nice. Sure Bobby and Ellen might be Dean’s partner and boss’s boss respectively, but first and foremost they are old family friends. And Jo, well, she’s a bit like a cousin to Sam and Dean, except, a cousin that you actually like, not just some annoying kid you see at weddings and funerals. Also watching her chase Sam will be hilarious.

So when Dean mentions the invite during his next call to Sam, his brother is down with it. And rather than dissuading him, when Dean breaks the news of Ellen’s recent health food mania, he actually seems _excited._ Starts talking about this ‘Paleo’ diet he’s on and how it’s giving him so much energy and he’s sleeping so much better and he’s down 2% body fat in a month and ‘Oh my god Dean, you really _have_ to try it.’

Dean turns the conversation away from raw vegetables, regaling Sam with the latest interesting cases that have passed through the department. His brother actually likes it when Dean talks work, since his goal, (once he’s paid off his loans) is to get a position in the DA’s office back home in New York. Sam’s one of those rare, _rare_ lawyers who actually wants to help people, not just get rich. Counting Cas, that makes a grand total of _two_ of them Dean doesn’t despise on principal. Although a few of the assistant DA’s that work under Cas are okay. Kevin’s alright. And so’s Samandriel. Poor kid is _not_ cut out for Naomi’s office though. Dean overhears his mental breakdowns over the phone to Cas at least once a month.

 _“So is Cas coming to Ellen and Bobby’s?”_ Sam asks, taking Dean by surprise.

Dean flounders for a moment before replying, because all of a sudden he’s imagining Cas sitting beside him at Ellen’s big old wooden dinner table, snarking at Bobby and trading boring lawyer speak with Sam as they eat a big Christmas dinner. How easily he can imagine his friend there in such a… _family_ setting unnerves him a little. “Um, no? Why would he?”

Sam snorts into the phone. _“Um, because you guys are basically joined at the hip?”_ he says. _“And I figured since he’s only got that brother in Hawaii, you’d probably drag him along.”_

He has a point. In fact Dean and Cas had just spent Thanksgiving together since neither of them had anything better to do. They’d holed up at Castiel’s apartment: Dean, Cas, Assbutt the cat, some cheesy horror on Cas’s offensively large TV, a few six packs of the nice imported beer his fridge is always stocked with and a couple of pizzas ordered from the hippy place he likes. The one that ruins them by putting stuff like spinach and mushrooms all over everything. And now that Dean thinks back, Assbutt might have actually developed his taste for baked goods then. Dean vaguely recalls drunkenly feeding him pizza crust and garlic bread.

 _“So are you gonna bring him?”_ Sam asks.

Dean swallows uncomfortably, because the way Sam’s talking makes it seem like he’d bring Cas as his… _date_ or something. And sure, when he’d first gotten an eyeful of him a few years previously, (chewing out Lieutenant Walker, which instantly made him about 1000x more appealing in Dean’s opinion), he’d quickly come to the conclusion that Castiel Novak was not a man he’d kick out bed - but Dean _likes_ Cas. As in, genuinely likes spending time with him.

He doesn’t cultivate friendships easily - can count his friends on one hand, and that's including his little brother and his partner - so even if there wasn’t the added difficulty of sort of working together, Dean wouldn’t act on that background attraction. The only thing he has more trouble hanging onto than friends are relationships. Dating Cas would be a recipe for disaster, and since he’s not a complete idiot, Dean’s very careful to remind himself of that fact regularly, to keep everything neatly compartmentalized.

Every time he notices how nicely Cas fills those tailored suits of his or gets tempted to run his hands through his permanently wrecked hair, Dean shoves those urges deep down where they won’t bother him, because Cas is his _friend_ and he values that too much to risk over sex, (no matter how mind-blowingly awesome his brain and the occasional vivid dream tells him that sex would be), and making a pass at him would be a fucking terrible idea.

 _“I mean, Ellen likes him doesn’t she?”_ Sam is saying, and Dean focuses back on their conversation. _“She used to bitch about the old EADA – what was his name? The British guy?”_

“Ugh.” Dean groans in disgust. “ _Crowley.”_

_“Yeah. That’s the one. Anyway, she used to complain about him all the time, but whenever she mentions Cas she practically gushes. You know. For her that is.”_

Dean snorts. “Yeah I hear ya.” Ellen Harvelle and Bobby Singer are well suited in that regard. They are both grouchy and generally unpleasant. It remains a mystery where Joanna Harvelle got her sweet nature. Admittedly the girl swears a bit and has a short fuse, but compared to the two who raised her, she’s a veritable ray of blonde, giggling sunshine. Speaking of which—

“So sweet darling _Joanna Beth’s_ been asking after you again Sammy.” Dean sing songs down the line.

Sam groans and Dean can picture him pulling at his too-long hair. _“She keeps emailing me.”_ he admits. _“I was hoping off-loading all my Jess related angst would convince her I wasn’t interested or at least put her off me in general but…”_ He sighs.

Dean grins. “From what Bobby was saying, it sounds like Ellen might be in on it.”

He doesn’t need to see Sam’s face to know he looks horrified. _“Oh god really?”_

“Mhmm. Watch out for mistletoe Sammy, sounds like she might be angling for a son-in-law and some grandkiddies.”

 

***

Dean doesn’t see Cas the next day - which isn’t unusual. They usually only grab lunch together once or twice a week depending on their respective workloads, and Dean knows Cas is working on some important case from Vice. Big drug smuggling and prostitution ring or something. Talk around the precinct is there might be connections to one of the big meth suppliers and Cas is working on a deal to get the guys Henriksen nabbed to roll on their bosses.

Bobby wants to know if he and Sam are coming for Christmas – Ellen needs to order a free range organic turkey or something (Sam’s gonna lose his shit) – and Dean manages to keep a straight face as he asks if Cas can come along. His partner snorts, makes some muttered comment about collecting strays, then says “Of course your little bestie can come along Dean.” with gentle mockery. “Since you asked so nicely. No idea _why,_ but Ellen seems to like that prickly little bastard almost as much as you do.”

Dean feels slightly ridiculous at how relieved he is to have Bobby and Ellen’s approval to bring his friend, already looking forward to having backup against Sam’s pranks and dibs on Cas’s share of the Christmas pudding. (since he never finishes his dessert. Weirdo.)

They exchange a few texts and emails over the next few days, then Dean wastes his Friday night with Benny, a few six packs of El Sol and his playstation. Saturday afternoon he loses to his long delayed Christmas shopping.

Bobby and Ellen are easy – the oldest bottle of Glenfiddich Dean can find/afford, Sam is simple too – he’s still scrimping like a student so essentials like decent work clothes are what he’s going to appreciate. Cas though, dude is notoriously difficult to buy stuff for. He’s got enough money to buy himself whatever random crap he wants and Dean doesn’t have any handy stray cats laying around this time. Hours later, after roaming department stores looking at shit like cologne and watches and having awkward conversations with sales assistants, Dean gives up and just wanders shops browsing at random, hoping something will jump out at him. A novelty gift maybe. A joke.  _Anything._

In the end he finds something that’s… well, kinda weird.

He’s not sure if Cas will hate it, but it will at least demonstrate that Dean _tried_ to get him a thoughtful gift. He spies it in the dusty display window of a Christian bookstore of all places. A framed antique print of some old church mural or painting or whatever they’re called. Dean looks closer because he knows Cas goes to church - it’s something he ribs him for occasionally - and the style of it is similar to the few small bits of churchy stuff he has in his apartment. All flat images and Russian lettering. It’s of some holy angel dude or whatever – golden halo, white robe, dark wings – the whole shebang, and it’s… actually pretty cool looking.

When Dean asks about it he’s informed that _yes,_ not only is it Russian Orthodox, but it’s a depiction of one _Castiel_ Angel of Thursday. Dean takes that as a pretty clear sign as far as gifts are concerned. It’s like a really nerdy version of his name on a keyring. And even if his friend doesn’t like it, it’s still more interesting than a bottle of Hugo Boss aftershave. Satisfied he’s more or less set for gifts, Dean heads home.

Later on that evening as he’s wrapping his purchases, he starts to second guess his choice though. It seems a bit weird. Who gives someone a picture of an angel? He ends up calling Sam and asking for his opinion, but his brother actually seems impressed. _“Sounds a lot better than what you gave him last year.”_ he says.

Dean glares at his phone. “Hey! That was an _awesome_ gift!” he protests.

 _“Dean,”_ his brother says _. “You gave him a **gun**.”_

“It was a collector’s item!”

Sam just sighs. _“Trust me, your effort this year seems way more Cas’s style.”_

“Yeah? Really?”

Sam snorts. _“ **Yes** Dean.”_ There’s a moment of silence while Dean blushes at his brother’s teasing tone - _“… So um, just in case… If you’re buying gifts… I’m wearing an 18.5 now.”_

Dean rolls his eyes. “I know Sammy.” he tells him. “You told me last week, and the week before. So don’t fret, you’re about as subtle as a brick and I know your exact sasquatch size.” 

 

***

Dean puts off asking Cas about Bobby and Ellen’s Christmas thing via text or email, figuring it will sound more casual and less like a ‘come-meet-my-quasi-parental-figures-on-a-weird-date-thing’ in person.

He emails Cas on Monday seeing if he wants to go to the Italian place with the awesome meatball subs for lunch, and stares at his computer screen in shock when an automated reply bounces back instantly saying that _Executive Assistant District Attorney Novak_ is on vacation and to forward all inquiries to _Assistant District Attorney Talbot._

Vacation?

Cas _never_ goes on vacation. He doesn’t even take sick leave. Dean reads over the email a few times in disbelief, but it’s a pretty standard one. Which again, is odd. _If_ Cas had impulsively decided to visit his brother for Christmas, (and seeing as how he hates the beach that seems unlikely), Dean can’t imagine him not leaving some sort of emergency contact number. His mobile at least. Or a personal email address. Because Cas is a workaholic.

Mostly though, Dean can’t believe Cas didn’t _tell_ him he was going away. He feels like an idiot for getting so excited about dinner at Ellen and Bobby’s and trying so hard to get him an awesome present. 

He’s distracted all day and eventually Bobby calls him out on it. “What the hell’s your problem boy?”

Dean shrugs, but Bobby just fixes him with a gimlet stare until he spills. “Apparently Cas took leave for Christmas and he didn’t mention it to me.”

Bobby raises an eyebrow. “Lover’s tiff?”

“Ha ha very funny.” Dean bites back.

Bobby raises a bushy eyebrow into a suggestive leer.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Quit it _._ It’s… It’s just not like him, you know?”

Bobby’s face sharpens as he takes in the serious tone of Dean’s voice, settling back into his usual frown. “What’s not like him?” he asks. “Seems like the whiny brat was overdue a vacation.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “But he’s been so busy with that vice case, really into it you know? And it’s not like him to just run off and leave it to friggin’ _Tabot_ to handle.” Bela Talbot, whilst one of the more capable Assistant DA’s, was not one of Castiel, or Dean’s or _anyone’s_ favorite people. She was a walking, talking lawyer stereotype. Cas had once scathingly informed Dean that she was only working in the DA’s office so her CV would look impressive and she’d be able to take her pick of nice fat paychecks and partnerships at a private firm. She had a habit of trying to poach all the high profile cases and offload the more mundane ones. Cas complained about her quite a bit.

Bobby frowns. “Hmph. That _is_ a bit strange now you mention it. That boy’s chained to his job.” He shrugs. “My guess is some family emergency? Doesn’t he have a cuckoo brother floating around?”

“Gabriel.” Dean says. “Yeah, maybe something happened.” Which was, of course, _bad_ , but the thought actually relieved Dean. Maybe Gabriel was sick or something and Cas’d had to rush out to see him… Lord knows Dean would’ve dropped everything if Sam needed him.

“Well, don’t stew over it boy.” Bobby tells him. “Pick up your damn phone and give him a call. Can’t have my partner angsting all over the place like a girl that didn’t get asked to prom.” He snorts. “Damn humiliating.”

Dean blinks. Jesus - why _hasn’t_ he called? He’s a fucking moron.

He has his phone out and pressed to his ear in a matter of seconds. It rings out and goes to voicemail. _“You have reached Castiel Novak. I am unable to take your call at this time. Please--”_

Dean frowns down at his phone and tries again. Again it rings through to Cas’s automated message. “He’s not picking up.”

Bobby slurps at his coffee. “So send him a message dumbass. He’s probably on a plane or something. Or outta coverage.”

Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.

Dean sends off a few casual, non freaked-out messages. He then religiously checks his phone every ten minutes until he heads home, just in case he missed Cas’s reply, even though he has the ringer set to max volume and vibrate on just in case. When he gets home, showers, watches the news and finishes a frozen dinner in front of the TV and Cas _still_ hasn’t replied (a flight to Hawaii doesn’t take _that_ long!), he tries calling again. Cas still isn’t picking up.

Dean tells himself he’s over-reacting. Cas can be a bit weird – he probably didn’t even think to tell Dean. He’s probably safe in Hawaii with his brother, busy or out of phone coverage or something totally mundane. Gabriel owns a bar. Maybe Cas is passed out drunk somewhere? Dean’s being a massive girl over nothing. Cas took the time to organize leave with the DA’s office, it’s not like he’s just vanished or something.

Still. He can’t help but start imagining all the _awful_ reasons Cas might have for suddenly running off. By 3am he’s convinced that Gabriel is dead or something and that Castiel is alone in Hawaii mourning the death of his last family member with no one to console him. At some point he passes out though, melodramatic fantasies or not, and is consequently awoken by his phone’s piercing message tone.

He scrambles for it, the screen lit up blindingly in the dark room, his heart racing – but it’s just a message from Sam. A picture of a dog wearing sunglasses that’s _really_ not that funny despite his brother’s 5am claims to the contrary. There’s still nothing from Cas. Dean snaps.

Cas got leave approved so Naomi must know what’s going on. Dean’ll stop by the DA’s office on his way to work… just to make sure.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s still early when he makes it over there, just after 7am, but the rest of Cas’s office are just as obsessive as him apparently and the place is almost as busy as it is at midday. The receptionist for Cas’s department isn’t in yet, but Dean signs in anyway. Whenever he drops by Cas’s work his friend insists because it’s ‘ _protocol’_ and ‘ _rules are important Dean’._

He heads past the foyer and into the DA’s offices. It’s quieter here, but there’s still a lot of activity. It looks like everyone in the department takes a working breakfast. Neatly dressed people in suits are tapping away at computers and looking _way_ too productive for 7am. The entire place smells of Starbucks. Dean finds himself looking in longing at the big cups sitting next to pretty much everyone’s elbows. He’d rushed out of the apartment with only one cup of coffee instead of his usual two or three and even one of those ridiculous caramel latte mochachinos seems pretty tempting.

There’s a flurry of movement and one of the office doors bangs open. Dean looks up just in time to see Samandiriel rush along the hallway and disappear into another office, his face red and blotchy. Kevin follows at a normal pace, scowling and muttering under his breath. The people in the open plan cubicles sneak looks but pretend not to notice for the most part as the drama unfolds. Kevin nods in greeting as he notices Dean.

“Hey Winchester.” he greets. There are bags under his eyes, bigger than usual, and his hair is sticking up all over the place.

Dean whistles low under his breath. “Hey Kev. Busy?”

The younger man groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “You could say that.” He shoots a meaningful glance at Samandiriel’s closed door. “Novak’s only been gone a day and Talbot’s aleady gone power mad, Naomi’s on the war path and Samandiriel’s on the verge of a mental break.”

Dean claps him on the shoulder. “Good thing you’re here to keep em all in check then huh?”

Kevin sighs. “Fuck my life.” Dean can’t help but grin. “So what can I do for you detective?” Kevin asks wearily. “Did Novak send you to spy on us? Report back on the failings of his minions without him?”

“Nah, I was actually just wondering if you knew where he’d jetted off to?”

Kevin frowns in confusion. “He didn’t tell you? That’s weird. You’re like, the only human that can stand to have a conversation with him.”

Dean shrugs, trying to keep his tone and expression casual. He feels like an overprotective mom checking in on her kid or something. Or a jealous ex. “Nope, he didn’t say anything. He’s not answering his phone and I was worried maybe something bad had happened you know?”

Kevin nods, frown deepening.

“Like maybe his brother had an accident or something.”

“Yeah, it was kinda sudden wasn’t it?” Kevin asks. “Shit I feel bad now, I was too busy freaking out over covering for him that I didn’t actually think of that…”

“Boss-lady in?”

Kevin winces. “Just missed her man. She briefed us and headed to court.”

“That why Samandiriel…” Dean trails off and jerks his finger towards the office he’d vanished into.

“No.” Kevin sighs. “That was Talbot. Novak assigned Samandiriel to a pretty high profile case, his first big solo prosecution you know?”

Dean nods. “Yeah I think Cas has mentioned it, giving the department's cutest DA a chance to prove himself or something?”

Kevin nods. “Yeah so anyway, Talbot’s reassigned it to _herself._ ” He rolls her eyes. “She’s got seniority, but no experience prosecuting fraud. Sam had it in the bag. He helped Novak with that corporate embezzlement thing last year, that’s why he gave it to him. Talbot’ll probably fuck it up.”

“Cas’s gonna be pissed when he gets back.”

“I guess Talbot figures the case will be done by then and she’ll have the publicity.” He grits his teeth. “ _God._ I can’t wait for some firm to offer her enough money for her to leave already.”

Dean makes a sympathetic noise. “Yeah, she’s a piece of work.” he says. “Look, I need to get down to the precinct. Do you know who’d have processed Cas’s leave?”

“Would have gone through HR, so I can’t help you. But Talbot should have the clearance to look up the records for you.” Kevin sighs. “Let me know if we need to organize like, flowers for him or something okay?” he asks awkwardly. “I need to go make Sam get his shit together.”

Dean nods and Kevin heads off towards Samandiriel’s office. Dean makes his way towards Talbot’s. It's next door to Cas’s, which is dark and empty.

She calls out at the first knock, like she’d been waiting for it. “Come in!”

The smile she gives Dean is flirtatious but shows too many teeth. “Detective!” she crows. “What a _delightful_ surprise!” Her eyes flick over him, head to toe and back again, and Dean shifts awkwardly on his feet.

He makes himself smile. “Talbot.” he greets. “How you been?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me _Bela_ Dean?” she asks with much eyelash batting.

 _“Bela.”_ Dean amends.

“Much better.” She straightens in her chair and Dean manages not to glance down at her chest. For all that she’s a complete snake, Bela Talbot is a very _attractive_ one. “Now what can I do for you?”

“Just wondering if you had the low down on Cas’s trip.”

Bela tilts her head. “What? He didn’t tell you?” she asks in blunt shock, her vampish façade evaporating for a moment.

Dean feels himself blush. Why does everyone keep assuming that?? “Nope.” he returns in a way he hopes is casual. “You know what Cas’s like.”

Bela hums in amusement. “Oh do I _ever._ ”

“So I thought I’d make sure nothing terrible happened.”

“Well my hand-over notes were non-existent and it’s so unlike Novak to take leave that I just assumed it was a family emergency.” She taps on her keyboard. “I’ll bring up the leave application.” She glances at him and smiles teasingly. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this you realize officer?”

Dean just smiles, thoroughly uncomfortable. Bela has that effect on him. She’s beautiful and one moment she’ll smile at him in a certain way and he’ll remember that, his libido roaring to life, but most of the time she’s so fake that she makes his skin crawl. Being around her gives him whiplash.

It takes her a minute, but eventually she makes an ‘aha!’ noise of success. “It’s all in order.” she says, voice low as she reads over the screen “He lodged it on Tuesday and it was approved on Thursday…  but there’s no additional notes or contact details.” She scrolls down the form. “All it says is… Huh. Apparently he’s in Miami until February?”

“Miami?” Dean repeats back in confusion.

Bela shrugs. “That’s what it says.” She scans her screen for a little longer. “There isn’t anything else here. Just the HR manager’s approval and a note about all the leave Novak has built up.”

“What the hell would he be doing in Miami?” Dean wonders.

Bela spreads her hands. “You’re guess is probably a lot better than mine.”

She’s right there.

***

No matter how he wracks his brains, Dean can’t think of a single reason Cas would have to go to friggin’ _Miami_ of all places _._ He was born in New York, had gone to college in California, lived in DC for a while and interned, then come back to New York. He’d never mentioned family or friends or so much as a fondly remembered vacation to Miami.

Dean messages Cas (again). There is still deafening radio silence though.

Bobby just shrugs when Dean relates the mysterious trip to Miami to him. “Sounds like he’s ignoring you on purpose boy. You sure you didn’t piss him off and not realize?” He gives Dean a knowing look and continues dryly. “You do that you know. It’s a special gift of yours. You can be damn annoying.”

Dean hates to admit it, but it sounds like Bobby might be onto something. An abrupt holiday and getting his calls and messages screened – it all adds up to Cas being pissed off at him. He just can’t think _why_ Cas would be angry. They fight, sure, but over inconsequential stuff like Cas’s irrational hatred of Deep Space Nine _(“I find the Ferengi nauseating Dean.”)_ and his disturbing collection of Taylor Swift albums. _(“She is very heartfelt.”)_

Over the course of the day Dean analyses every conversation they’ve had in the last week, scrolls through every message and email they’ve exchanged, but he can’t find _anything_ that hints at Cas being monumentally pissed at him. The only serious arguments they’d had were over work related things like the search warrant from the week before. Cas hadn’t seemed especially angry though, and he’d appeared to have forgiven Dean as per usual. After all, Dean and Bobby had been cutting the occasional corner when it came to closing a case and getting the perp put away for years. Cas was used to it.

Unless, maybe he’d finally gotten sick of it? He _was_ a goddamn boyscout and stickler for the rules. Maybe that last warrant had been the last straw and he was sick of covering Dean’s ass?

Dean finds himself composing and deleting long winded emails and messages asking for forgiveness or just asking what he did wrong. He can’t bring himself to send them though. As much as he’s freaking out, the thought of groveling, even to Cas, is just too much for him to handle. Dean Winchester does not grovel.

By five he’s convinced that Cas hates him and that he’s run away to Miami just to avoid him, that he’s going to find an awesome job down there and move, never to return. He’s not even sure what he’s doing, but come knock-off he fires off another text message - some half-baked excuse about the cat - and then he’s aiming the Impala up town and heading in the opposite direction to home so he can swing by Cas’s place on the way back from work. Maybe there’s some clue as to why Cas suddenly hates him there. At the very least, Cas will have to _reply_ to tell him to stay the fuck out of his house.

 

Cas doesn’t respond and Dean takes that as permission to basically break in. Cas’s apartment takes up the ground floor of an old converted brownstone. Pretty fancy digs, but then Cas is a fancy lawyer and he takes home a lot more than a lowly detective. The door is locked, but Dean knows the security code for the building and has a spare key for Cas’s door. The moment he gets into the foyer of Cas’s apartment, Assbutt bounds into the hallway, bell jingling, meowing plaintively.

Dean huffs. “That dick didn’t ask anyone to feed you did he?” he asks as the cat trots forward to butt against Dean’s calves eagerly and purr like a small furry steam locomotive.

The rug in the hall is twisted, like someone tripped over it as they dashed towards the door, but otherwise everything looks exactly as it did the last time Dean visited a few weeks back. It’s spotless - the floors clean and the shelves and furniture dusted - but not because Cas is a neat freak, because he pays a housekeeper to come tidy up after him once a week. It isn’t until Dean steps into the living room that he notices something wrong, (apart from Cas apparently abandoning Assbutt).

It’s a smell, one he instantly recognizes. Sweet and nauseating – something rotting. It’s just a faint whiff, but Dean’s entered enough apartments over the last few years in Homicide to immediately reel in horror. It’s the smell of decomposing flesh.

“Cas?!” he calls. There’s no answer, only the oppressive silence of an empty apartment and the rumble of Assbutt’s ravenous purr.

Instantly he’s imagining all sorts of horrific scenarios. Dean hasn’t heard from Cas since Friday – over three days previously. If something had happened – if Cas has been dead that long, he _would_ be smelling ripe.

Oh god. Dean looks down at the cat. The _hungry_ cat.

Assbutt might have eaten his face.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Dean’s scooped the cat up and is inspecting his face for evidence of – of _what?_ _Cas?_

Is he hysterical? What the hell is he doing?

There are plenty of reasonable explanations for a smell. Burst plumbing. Forgotten trash. A faulty refrigerator. A big rat might have died in a wall or something. Dean dumps Assbutt back to the tiles and tells himself to get a grip. Cas isn’t lying somewhere dead, gnawed on by his cat like his loaf of organic rye.

Still, he draws his gun as he walks forward, most of him still expecting to find a crime scene when he turns the corner into Cas’s kitchen.

He scans it in a split second, taking in the room. It’s as tidy as the rest of the apartment, completely normal. No body or bloodstain. The only things out of place are a wilted head of broccoli on the chopping board, Cas’s tablet left haphazard near the microwave, a skillet on the stove, and… a blue china plate sitting upside down in the middle of the bench.

Dean lifts it up.

There’s an uncooked, _rancid,_ steak sitting abandoned on a plate under it.

It’s the _steak._

The goddamn _steak_ is what stinks. Not Cas’s decomposing corpse.

Dean thinks he might have overdone the coffee that afternoon, because his heart is doing all sorts of weird things inside his chest. He leans against the bench and tried to get a grip.

Assbutt is pawing at the cupboards and yowling, reaching up towards the bench where the steak is sitting, obviously able to smell it but unable to jump up and get to it under the heavy plate. The last few days must have been torture for him, able to smell food but too uncoordinated to get it. He’s not the most graceful of cats. He has a tendency to fall off the couch when grooming himself.

“Oh thank fuck.” Dean mutters, and for a moment he’s so relieved that he doesn’t put one and two together. Instead he pulls out his phone and sends off another message.

_‘Way to leave poor assbutt to fend for himself. And nice one with the steak, I thought I was smelling ur friggin corpse when I opened the door. Asshole.’_

Almost as soon as he presses ‘send’ there’s a chirping noise of a phone from the hall past the kitchen. Dean freezes. “Cas?” he calls out. “Have you been here this whole time you dick?”

There’s no answer. The apartment remains eerily silent. Assbutt follows at Dean’s heels as he heads past the bathroom and office and towards Cas’s bedroom. It occurs to him as he crosses the threshold that he’s never actually been inside it before. Cas isn’t secretive or anything, Dean’s seen inside the open door plenty of times on his way the bathroom or whatever, but he’s never actually gone inside. It feels weird.

It’s empty. Of course. The bed is unmade, there’s a suit jacket tossed over a chair near a mirror and a pair of shoes toed off nearby. On the bedside table, beside Cas’s reading glasses and a kindle with a hideous yellow cover, is an alarm clock stereo and Cas’s phone is sitting in the dock. Dean looks at it for a long moment then quickly retraces his steps back through the apartment.

Cas’s keys and wallet are on the hall table next to the front door, along with a half empty pack of gum and a pair of dusty ray bans. Where he always leaves them. His favorite coat, the long black one that makes him look really hot and swirls dramatically behind him when he walks, the one he takes _everywhere,_ is hanging in the hall cupboard.

Dean nearly trips over Assbutt as he dashes back across the apartment. Back in Cas’s bedroom he pulls open the drawers in his wardrobe, and sure enough, buried under some mismatched socks, right where he knows Cas keeps it, is a folder containing his passport, birth certificate and other important documentation.

Dean’s a detective and everything is adding up to something scary. Way scarier than his best friend being pissed off at him.

Cas isn’t on _holiday._ Something’s happened to him. He was in the middle of making himself dinner, probably on Friday night, probably distracted by his work with half his attention on his tablet, and someone surprised him and –

And what?

Took him? Killed him?

It’s insane. Who the hell would want to hurt Cas?

Dean doesn’t have any fucking idea but whatever was going on it was complicated. Not some random act of violence or a robbery. Someone had taken the time and effort to cover for Castiel at work, and that would have required an inside man or coercion or something. Clearly they didn’t want Cas’s disappearance to be noted too quickly.

But _who?_

The only ‘enemies’ Cas has are criminals he’s put behind bars and Dean can’t think of any with the clout or pull that’d be needed to arrange something like this from inside.

Dean’s heart is doing that weird uncomfortable thing in his chest again. It feels all tight and painful there, like he’s having a heart attack. He pulls out his phone and before he realizes what he’s doing he’s called Sam.

_“Dean?”_

“Sammy.”

_“I’m still at work, what is it?”_

It comes out in a messy rush. “It’s… It’s Cas. He supposedly went on holiday, but he _never_ goes on holiday and he woulda told me if he was gonna, and he wasn’t answering his phone so I came over to check on Assbutt and all his stuff is here and maybe I’m going crazy but--"

 _“Okay okay! Calm down Dean!”_ Sam interrupts.

“His passport, his phone, his wallet and his keys are here Sammy, and he complains about the cat, but he wouldn’t leave it here to _starve._ ”

 _“Dean slow down!”_ Sam says, voice tight with concern and confusion.

Dean takes a breath. “I should call it in.” he says half to himself because, yeah, what good is calling his brother in LA?! He needs to get Cas reported as missing. Find out what the fuck happened.

_“Wait wait, Dean, what’s going on? What’s happened to Cas?”_

“I think someone kidnapped him.” Dean hears himself say as if from a long way away, because insane as it is, that’s what all the evidence is pointing to.

_“Are you sure he just… didn’t have some kinda family emergency?”_

Dean shakes his head to himself, pulls at his hair. “No. He woulda told me. Or at least sent me a text to come feed the cat. He’s been locked in here for days.”

 _“Yeah.”_ Sam agrees. _“Okay, well, yeah. Call it in Dean. Just… maybe take a minute and calm down a bit okay?”_

“Yeah.” Dean replies, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Assbutt is circling his legs, rubbing against his shins roughly. A glance into the kitchen shows his water bowl bone dry. _I should feed him and give him something to drink_ Dean thinks vaguely. Cas would want him to.

 _“Can you think of anyone that would want to hurt Cas?”_ Sam asks. _“I mean, he’s a DA – is he working on anything big at the moment?”_

Dean blinks, remembers Vice’s big drugs haul. “Actually,” he tells his brother. “He was building a case on a couple of drug dealers Vice took in. Working on getting them a deal that would have them flip on their bosses. Henriksen thought it was one of the cartels, but Cas was saying he thought it was Russian gangs or some shit.”

 _“Oh fuck.”_ says Sam, sounding legitimately worried for the first time. _“Are you sure? I mean, if they knew, well, with Cas’s history they’d definitely target him.”_

“What?” Sam’s something of a fan of Castiel, so Dean assumes he’s referring to some case he’d prosecuted before Dean’s time.

_“His **family** Dean. I know he doesn’t talk about it, but **Jesus**. That’s a pretty big coincidence don’t you think?”_

_“What?_ ” Cas doesn’t have any family. His parents are dead. And sure, his dad had been Russian or Polish or something, but that’s hardly gonna make him a target. Cas’s mom had been American and he was New York born and raised. The only family he has is –“Gabriel? You think _Gabriel_ is involved in this?” And okay sure, the guy Cas has described sounds like a bit of dick, but not kidnapping in cohorts with Russian drugslords levels of dick.

 _“No, not Gabriel.”_ Sam says. _“His other brothers though, some of them are still in the wind.”_

“Sam.” Dean says lowly. “I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about.” But the talk of Gabriel has given him an idea. “Hang on Sammy.” he mutters and crosses the bedroom to snatch up Cas’s phone. He dismisses the alerts for missed messages and calls, and opens up Cas’s contact list. It’s mostly work contacts, but his brother is listed under ‘Gabe’, his profile picture showing a guy with longish hair and a disturbing grin.

Dean puts the call through and waits, clenching his jaw and pacing. He can hear Sam talking, tinny squeaks from his phone where it’s lying on Cas’s bedspread, but he ignores it. Assbutt has jumped onto the bed and is kneading Cas’s pillow, purring loudly and staring at Dean.

 _“Cassie baby!”_ an exuberant voice calls down the line. _“What’s the haps? You get my Christmas present yet?”_

“This Gabriel?” Dean snaps.

The line is silent for moment and when the voice speaks again it’s gone very cold and suspicious. _“Yes. Who is this?”_

“This is Dean – a friend of Cas’s.”

Instantly Gabriel is all charm once more. _“Oh! The infamous **Deaaan**.”_ he says, drawing the name out until it seems to have half a dozen extra syllables. _“I’ve heard **so much** about you.”_

Dean ignores the teasing tone. “Look, Cas hasn’t planned some holiday has he? Hasn’t spoken to you about going away or anything?”

 _“No?”_ There’s a pause and Gabriel’s voice loses all traces of mockery. _“Has something happened?”_

Dean sighs. “I hope not.” He gives Cas’s brother a brief run-down of what he knows, and Gabriel’s reaction isn’t reassuring. He swears in what sounds like two or three languages, then hangs up. When Dean redials, it goes straight to voice mail.

Sam’s hung up on Dean’s phone in the meantime, but has sent Dean a text telling him to report Cas missing and that he’ll keep his phone on him if he wants to call back. Dean takes his brother’s earlier advice and gives himself a minute to calm down before calling it in, straightening out what he knows in his head.

He scrolls through Cas’s recent text conversations and calls, but it’s all lawyerese save the stuff to himself and Gabriel. The pictures saved to it are mostly of the cat, although there are several of Dean – including a few of him passed out on Cas’s couch with Assbutt curled up on his chest, something he has no recollection of – a few of Gabriel posing with a bottle of tequila and a two women who are unmistakably strippers, and a couple of Kevin and Samandiriel at what looks like their office Christmas party.

Nothing suspicious.

He scans the apartment once more for signs of a struggle, but beyond the wonky rug, and the signs of abandonment, it’s pristine. He’s just double checking that yes, the passport in Cas’s drawer _is_ a current one, and not an expired spare or something, when he realizes that half the documents, the old ones shoved at the back of the wallet, are in a different name.

There’s a passport in the old style, no chip, and it has a picture of Cas, looking adorably teenaged, and there’s his birthday and place of birth, but the name, the name is _[Malakhov, Castiel Vadimovich]._ Dean drops it in shock.

He knows that name.

With shaking hands he flicks through the rest of the papers. There’s an old birth certificate, a high school diploma, some legal documents… a _Russian_ passport… all of them fifteen, twenty years old, but all with the same name.

_Malakhov._

Any cop, hell, not even any cop, any _one_ fullstop who’d paid even the slightest attention to the news in the 90’s would know that name.

Dean has Sam back on the line in seconds. _“Dean. Any news?”_

“Castiel _Malakhov!?_ ” he hisses over the phone. “ _That’s_ what you were talking about? Cas’s family are the fucking _Malakhovs?!”_

Sam’s silent for a beat. _“Wow. Did you… Really not know that?”_ he asks skeptically. _“I mean, Cas never talked about it, but it’s kinda a big deal?”_

“No shit it’s a big deal Sam!” Dean shrieks, “My best friend is apparently part of some… some... _Russian Mob_ _family!”_

 _“Koptevskaya Bratva.”_ Sam corrects. _“And Cas was never a part of it. Well, not really. He emancipated himself at 17. He and Gabriel turned on the Bratva after their brothers started killing each other. They helped the FBI shut down the American side of the family business. It’s a really fascinating story. One of my old professors wrote a book on it actually. I have a copy of it somewhere…”_

Dean tried to absorb all that. “You… _have a book?”_

_“Yeah?”_

“On Cas’s ‘Bratva’ family?”

“ _Uhuh. I mean, Castiel’s an inspiration. Coming from that kind of family, going through college in witsec and working his way up to EADA so young? He’s something else.”_

Well. This explained the extent of Sam’s man crush on Cas, Dean supposed. “So. Cas is from some scary family of Russian mobsters, who he ratted on, and he just happens to be working on a case he thinks involves more scary Russian mobsters?”

 _“I hate to say it Dean,”_ Sam says _. “But it sounds like you’re right. Cas’s in trouble.”_

***

Lieutenant Walker doesn’t agree with Dean’s assessment. “There’s no signs of a struggle Winchester. Just looks like Mr Novak was in a hurry to make his flight.”

“And didn’t bother to bring his phone or wallet?” Dean asks in disbelief.

Walker shrugs. “Probably travelling light. Ditched his phone so he wouldn’t be disturbed and only took the cards he needed from his wallet.”

It sounds almost reasonable, if you didn’t know Cas, but Dean _does_ so it doesn’t _._ “Cas wouldn’t do that Sir.” Dean insists, working to keep his tone respectful. It’s a fucking struggle. “He’s a complete workaholic. There’s no way he’d leave his phone. Put it on silent, maybe, but leave it? No way.”

The muscle in Walker’s temple pulses as he clenches his jaw, staring Dean down. _“Detective._ ” he snaps. “I am aware that you are… _attached_ to Defense Attorney Novak, and I’ve come down here to investigate this so-called ‘kidnapping’ _personally -_ despite the lovely meal my wife had prepared for dinner - because I know you have connections in the Department. Old friends of your daddy.” He sneers. “But you’re wasting police time and man power.”

Dean realizes with a detached sense of horror, that Walker’s not taking Cas’s disappearance seriously, and he’s 99% sure that it’s mostly because he hates Dean rather than a lack of evidence.

“Did you have a fight?” the Lieutenant asks snidely. “You and Novak have a little spat and now he’s run off for some alone time?” One of the Junior Detectives, the dorky redhead - Bradbury, shoots Dean a commiserating look from behind Walker’s back. “Well give him a few days Winchester. I’m sure Novak will call you once he’s cooled off a little.”

Dean wants to punch him in the face. But as angry as he is with the Lieutenant he’s also angry with himself. He’s made little effort to reel in the animosity between the two of them, and now Cas is going to pay the price. With monumental effort, he stamps down his temper. “Sir.” he says, “Castiel was brokering an immunity deal with the perps on vice’s big meth bust. He thought the source was Russian mafia and given his personal history --”

“ _Russian Mafia?”_ Walker snorts. “Novak was jumping at shadows. I’ve read Henriksen’s reports. That bust is gonna lead back to the same old cartels as always. The DEA are already sniffing around.” He glances around Castiel’s living room. “Your little domestic with Novak’s got nothing to do with that case. The Malakhov’s are all dead or locked up. Novak’s ‘personal history’ is completely irrelevant here… Although it does demonstrate a tendency for him to cut and run doesn’t it?”

Somehow, Dean manages not to punch Walker’s smug fat head. “Look, Cas wouldn’t leave all his shit at home, he wouldn’t go on holiday without planning it out fucking _years_ in advance, he wouldn’t leave in the middle of a big case – even if he was wrong about the Russian connection - and he wouldn’t--” Dean points at Assbutt, who’s sitting at Bradbury’s feet with a hopeful expression on his face. “--leave his cat to starve.”

Walker looks at the cat and then gives Dean a loaded look. “I imagine he assumed _you’d_ look after the fleabag Winchester. You’re the one that gave him the thing aren’t you?” He looks down at Assbutt disdainfully. “That’s what your type do isn’t it? Raise pets together?”

Walker’s never come outright and said anything, but he’s used the fact that Dean dates men as well as women to try and insult him plenty over the years. It’s never worked before, but hearing him making snide comments about _Cas,_ whom Dean most definitely _isn’t_ sleeping with, makes Dean flush in embarrassment and anger. Everyone in the office knows he ‘gave’ Cas Assbutt. Some kid had dumped the thing on Bobby’s desk in a shoebox, and it had been Homicide’s unofficial mascot for a few hours before Cas had arrived and Dean had jokingly presented him with the furball.

But he’s not their gay substitute baby or whatever the hell Walker is implying.

“Lieutenant,” Bobby says from the kitchen. “Novak’s been missing over 72 hours at last count. Might pay to at least put out a missing persons, play it by the book. You know what his boss is like. Best have our asses covered.” he sounds totally put out, as grumpy as ever – but it’s plain that he’s playing Walker, offering up Naomi as an excuse for the Lieutenant to save face. Dean could kiss him.

Walker’s silent for a beat, lips pursed, but then he rolls his eyes. “Fine!” he snaps, turning to glare at Dean and Bobby and then even poor Bradbury, whose only crime as far as Dean can tell is being in the general vicinity and apparently being some sort of cat whisperer - Assbutt is curled over her shoes, batting at her laces. “I don’t want you wasting time on this shit though.” Walker says. “We’re backlogged and I need cases cleared before Christmas.” Dean nods, Bobby grunts and Bradbury just sort of looks wide-eyed and panicked. Without waiting for any real sort of response, Walker strides out of the room like a pissed off storm cloud.

Dean glares a hole into his back. _“Fucker.”_ he mutters once he’s safely out of range. He can feel Bobby and Bradbury staring at him. Sighing he rubs at his jaw. His beard itches - he needs a shave. He’d forgotten that morning. “I’m not nuts right?” he asks after a minute, looking up at Bobby. “This is fucked up, right?”

His partner hmpfs thoughtfully. “Sure seems like a set up to me. Novak never takes a long lunch, let alone a surprise vacation with just the clothes on his back to friggin’ _Miami_ of all places.” He frowns. “What in the hell’s a kid like that gonna do down there? Sip cocktails on the beach with bikini girls? Hire a yacht?”

“Of course he’s not,” Dean agrees. He’s not sure Cas can even swim and he sure as hell isn’t one to sunbathe. Even in summer Dean’s never even seen him in anything less a long sleeve t-shirt. Imagining him at a club in Miami or at the beach ridiculous. “But Walker won’t listen to anything I,” He glances at Bobby, “Or you by association, have to say about it. And his damn brother’s not answering the phone so I can’t get him to report him missing.” Dean’s pretty sure he’s gonna have to try and find out what’s happened to Cas himself. No way is he gonna sit around and wait for a body or a ransom note or something. Gabriel had been _freaked_ when Dean said Cas was missing, and with what Sam told him…

“Gonna be hard to look into it with Walker breathing down our necks.” Bobby says. “But I should be able to cover our end so you can. Worse comes to worse we’ll go over his head. Ellen’ll listen to you. Disappearing DA’s are nothing to sneeze at, whatever the Lieutenant thinks.”

 “Thanks man.” Dean tells him, thankful beyond belief that his partner has his back.

“Um… My case work’s up to date?” Bradbury says nervously. “I’m not backlogged. I could help.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. Bradbury was promoted to Junior Detective a few months previously. Dean hasn’t worked closely with her, but she seems perfectly capable from what he’s seen. Not a rule breaker though. A bit of a brown-noser even. “You sure? Walker’ll be pissed if he finds out.”

Bradbury shrugs but Dean can see she’s anxious.

“You only just made detective.” Bobby adds. “Easy for him to bust you back down to uniform.”

She straightens her shoulders and suddenly doesn’t look nervous or scared at all. “That’s right, I’m a detective.” she says. “And the evidence is telling me there’s a crime here to be investigated. I’m not gonna ignore that because the Lieutenant’s jealous of Winchester’s big man crush on Novak or whatever.”

Dean blinks. “… _what?”_

Bradbury raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?” She glances at Bobby. “Is he for real?”

Bobby shares a mystified look with Dean. “I got no idea what you’re blabbering about Bradbury.”

The younger detective smirks. “The Lieutenant is a total hardass to you.” she tells Dean. “And he’s always fighting with Novak.”

Dean frowns “Yeah so?”

“He also stares at your butt a lot. Like, _a lot._ And glares at Novak like he wants to kill him with his brain when you guys go out for lunch or whatever.”

“You saying Walker’s got a crush on _Dean_?” Bobby asks in disbelief.

“Hey!” Dean says. “Don’t sound so surprised! People get crushes on me all the time!” Bobby snorts. “But be that as it may,” Dean continues, ignoring Bobby. “Walker’s straight as they come. And he’s hated me since I was a newbie working traffic.”

Bradbury shakes her head. “Nope. He just deep, _deep_ in the closet.” she says. “Wife and kids deep.” She pauses. “It’s actually kinda sad. I’d almost feel sorry for the guy if he wasn’t such a colossal douchebag.”

“You sure? He don’t seem like one of…” Bobby clears his throat and gestures vaguely between Dean and Bradbury. “One of _your folk_.” he continues awkwardly. Dean rolls his eyes. “I mean, I’ve know the man years. Never been a hint of any… any of that sort of thing.”

“Man on man love?” Dean asks. “Hot gay sex?”

Bobby glares at him. “Shut it boy.”

Dean blows him a kiss.

“Oh I’m sure.” Bradbury says. “And he’s letting it interfere with a case, which is why I’m willing to go behind his back.”

“You think Walker’s in love with Dean here and jealous of Cas?” Bobby asks, obviously still having a hard time accepting the Lieutenant supposed appreciation for Winchester Glutes.

“Yep.” Bradbury returns. “And it’s not Novak’s fault he’s dreamy and Winchester goes all goo-goo for his baby blues.”

Bobby flicks an amused side-eye at Dean. “Well I’m not gonna argue with _that_ observation.” he drawls.

Dean feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment. “I do not go ‘goo-goo’ for Cas.” he insists.

Bradbury and Bobby snort in unison. “You’re both dicks.” Dean mutters.

Bobby claps him on the shoulder. “Want us to help you find your boyfriend or not kid?”

***

Bobby has to head home, but he tells Dean to call if they find anything, and that he’ll keep Walker off his ass. Bradbury and Dean head back to his, lugging Cas’s laptop, phone and _cat_ with them.

Assbutt does not enjoy the car ride.

Wrapped in a towel on Bradbury’s lap he keeps up a freaky low ‘Mrrrrr’ noise all the way home that sounds more like swearing than any sort of catty meow. But Bradbury doesn’t seemed phased. She ignores the occasional hiss and instead ‘Oh’s’ and ‘Ah’s’ over the Impala appreciatively. She seems to be a nervous conversationist, but her babbling helps keep Dean distracted from the fact that his best friend is missing. He gets a sick spike of adrenaline every time he thinks about it.

Benny’s in the foyer grabbing his mail when they make it to Dean’s building. He’s still in his workout gear and is clearly just back from the gym - plastic carry bag with what looks like a carton of milk in it non-withstanding. He raises an eyebrow at Dean and Bradbury and their luggage and the hissing cat, but politely refrains from saying anything beyond offering Bradbury a nod and Dean his customary “Evening brother.” as they pile into the elevator.

Dean can tell from the look his neighbor is giving him that he’s only extending the courtesy because there’s a woman involved. Benny’s decidedly old-fashioned and Southern when it comes to his manners. It was how they’d met. He’d introduced himself the day Dean and Sam moved in and then helped them shift the fridge and a few other heavy items out of the tiny elevator and into their apartment. After they’d gotten the last box moved in, he dragged them back to his place for dinner with his wife Andrea and daughter Elizabeth. The goddamn _epic_ Jambalaya Andrea had served - _(‘secret recipe brother’) -_ had basically sealed the deal as far as Dean was concerned and Benny had been a friend ever since.

So Dean’s certain the next time he runs into either Lafitte he’s going to be getting a lot of smirking questions about red-headed lady-callers and cats. Still, he doesn’t feel like explaining who Bradbury is and why she’s carting an angry cat and luggage into his house at – he glances at his watch – 9 at night.

Safely ensconced in his apartment, away from the prying eyes of well-meaning if super fuckin’ nosy neighbors, Bradbury takes a deep breath and starts up with the nervous babbling again. Dean relieves her of Assbutt while she waxes on about how ‘awesome’ his home furnishings are.

She inspects the wall of games and box-sets beside Dean’s tv while he organizes the cat’s litter tray and gets food and water bowls set up for him. When he makes it back to the living room she’s taken down the replica Andúril Sam got him years ago and is waving it around with surprising, if disturbing, dexterity. She blushes almost as crimson as her hair at the look he gives her and quickly puts the sword back on its stand.

For a second Dean feels bad. If he wasn’t so stressed, he thinks they’d probably get along pretty well.

Once she’s set up her stuff all throne-like in Dean’s living room – pulling a seemingly endless stream of stuff out of her bag like Mary Poppins – it only takes her a couple of hours and 4 cups of coffee to declare victory.

Apparently she’s some sort of _hacker_ or something.

Cas’s laptop, tablet and phone are neatly stacked across the coffee table and she’s got weird things plugged into them, complicated, matrix like codey stuff flicking across screens.

“Okay, I’ve got access to all of his protected work files.” she tells Dean.

In comparison, Dean hasn’t done much apart from get more and more freaked out googling Cas’s weird mobster family on his laptop. He remembered the general jist of it from the news when he was a kid and from hearing his dad talk about it with Bobby and his other cop buddies when they came over, but most of it is new to him.

There are dozens of shitty little websites parroting the same stuff, and some long winded entries in a few ‘True Crime’ databases, but after scouring the Wikipedia page and realizing how much bull there was floating around, Dean actually forked out a few bucks on amazon and downloaded the book Sam had been talking about. The author was respectable, in as much as a writer specializing in ‘True Crime’ could be, and Dean loaded it up for some light reading.

He’d spent the best part of the evening skimming through it while Bradbury muttered to herself and Assbutt wandered the apartment meowing disconsolately, looking for Cas. It wasn’t quite as lurid as the stuff online, but it was still pretty full-on. And illustrated.

Cas’s father Vadim - a former KGB operative – had formed up with other like-minded ex-military types and together they’d worked their way up the ladder in brutal, bloodthirsty style, emerging as one of the top gangs in Moscow, controlling the Koptevso district completely. Then in the late 70’s they’d immigrated to the US en masse on a false passports, settling in New York and quickly making a name for themselves. There was a series of old black and white crime scene photographs showing exactly how Vadim and his buddies had used their violent KGB skill-sets to beat the completion into submission. Literally.

With connections to the Moscow side of the Bratva back in Russia and access to shit their rivals just couldn’t compete with, weapons, drugs, girls… they were able to basically take over the New York drug trade. From there they spread with bases popping up all over the states. By the 80’s Vadim’s _Koptevskaya Bratva_ controlled over half the cocaine and heroin smuggled into the US and ran prostitution and extortion rackets on the side. About the only thing he stayed out of was gun running, and that was apparently because he hated to see stolen Soviet weapons in non-Russian hands. The Bratva were all well-armed, but they weren’t sharing.

The guy sounded like a complete psycho, but a smart one. He’d worked as a sort of conduit between the Russian smugglers and the South American Cartels, brokering truces and deals profitable to both, earned himself most-wanted status across the country and in several others, and somehow still managed to end up on the society pages. Untouchable.

There was no mug shot in the book, just posed photo ops and a few autopsy shots. Vadim had been wiry and lean, dark hair and a handsome face. The comparison between the smiling man in a suit in most of the pictures and the body in the autopsy shots was… bizarre. There were scars and faded tattoos across Vadim’s chest, shoulders and arms. Some were familiar to Dean from dealing with Russian gang members, but most were just crude pictures and twisted Cyrillic he didn’t understand. They seemed so out of place on the rich man in a suit he saw in the other pictures.

Dean stared, but he couldn’t see much of a family resemblance in Cas. The dark hair maybe. Perhaps the set of his jaw or the lean runner’s build… But really, accepting that the dead tattooed gangster riddled with bullet holes was Cas’s _father_ was just… impossible.

Dean skipped forward, past the autopsy shots.

Vadim had outlived three wives, each one younger and more beautiful than the last, and fathered six children by them. Mikhail and Luca to the first, Gabriel to the second and Anya and Castiel to the third. An illegitimate son, Raphael, had been born sometime between Luca and Gabriel and taken in and raised alongside his siblings. There were excerpts and clippings from old magazine articles praising Vadim for his philanthropy, photos of him shaking hands with senators and shit, and snaps of the older children at parties and benefits. Mikhail looked like a younger version of his father, tall, handsome and dark-haired. Luca and Gabriel were blonde and Luca seemed to smile too wide. There were only a couple of pictures of Anya, she’d only been 17 when she’d apparently vanished, but it was plain that Castiel’s sister had been very beautiful.

Vadim’s reign had come to an abrupt end when he’d been gunned down and his two eldest sons, Mikhail and Luca, had taken over the stateside arm of the Bratva. Since Mikhail seemed as adept at his father at bribing the right people and charming others and Luca was rabid dog eager to brutally enforce their rule by killing anyone else, the business flourished. They diversified into minor arms dealing and people smuggling on the side in the mid 90’s, and despite ongoing Federal investigations, it seemed like they weren’t ever going to get caught.

Then Anya had disappeared and Mikhail fell out with Luca. The author theorized that Luca had in fact murdered his half-sister, with whom he had been increasingly obsessed, though no body had ever been recovered. The elder brothers fought. Raphael took Mikhail’s side but Gabriel skipped out to run a few of their small time drug operations in Bangkok to avoid the confrontation and Castiel, still very young, isolated himself at a boarding school.

The author speculated that the feud would have lasted years, Mikhail and Luca fighting but reluctant to actually kill each other, if not for Mikhail attempting to draw Castiel into it. He withdrew his younger brother from school at 15 and instead started teaching him ‘the family business’, grooming him as his heir. Castiel and Anya, the babies of the family, children of an American socialite Vadim had kept in the dark about most things, had been insulated from the true nature of their father’s business. Castiel did not respond well to what Mikhail revealed to him.

He went along with his brother, doing as he was told, but he collected evidence as he did so. It was implied Cas did quite a few illegal and immoral things at the behest of his brother, but apparently his file was sealed since he’d been a minor. He emancipated himself from Mikhail at 16, and in return for the large portfolio of evidence he’d gathered on his brothers and the Bratva, obtained immunity for himself and Gabriel, the one brother he still felt any affection for. Gabriel had evidently fought repeatedly with Mikhail over Castiel, demanding he be left out of Bratva business, and it seemed Castiel was grateful.

The details of the situation were all a bit vague owing to nature of the deal and the age of Castiel, but the author spoke pretty highly of Cas and Dean could see why Sam said he was an inspiration. Going from Mikhail’s – the _Pakhan_ of the Koptevskaya Bratva – would be heir to a respected New York DA was quite the damn shift.

Dean had thought he’d had a tough childhood, mother dead at 4, father at 12, a baby brother to pretty much raise himself, but in comparison to Castiel, a few years in shitty foster care was a nothing.

But despite that, despite how awful Cas’s family sounded, he couldn’t help but feel sort of… angry. Offended that in three years, Cas never said a thing. Sure Dean was pretty tight lipped about his own history, but he’d never actively kept stuff from Cas, _secrets_ , he just hadn’t wanted to bog him down with Winchester angst. Though it turned out Winchester angst had nothing on what Cas was packing.

He’s frowning at his computer screen, reading about some of Luca’s disturbing exploits when Bradbury hits gold.

“Yes!” she crows, making Dean flinch a little at the volume. “Got it!” She grins at him and Dean makes himself smile back in return. “Okay, so the last thing Novak was working on was some case notes updated via a cloud service on Friday.”

“His tablet was in the kitchen.” Dean says.

Bradbury nods. “Yep. He was going over some notes on it. Last edit was at 8:18 pm.”

“While he was cooking dinner.”

She nods again. “So the file was just personal case notes, not official paperwork. He was speculating about someone called ‘Luca’ being involved with references to a few murders and disappearances.”

Dean glances at his laptop screen where a passage about Luca burning some guy’s entire family alive after torturing them blinks back at him. “Luca Malakhov. His creepiest brother.”

Bradbury grimaces. “Yeah, seems like it huh?” She shudders. “I hope Novak was wrong, because, _wow_ , that guy sounds messed up.”

“Understatement.” Dean mutters. From what he’d read about Castiel’s older brother over the last few hours, the guy was Hannibal Lector levels of _insane._

“The last thing he entered was something about visiting _‘R at Attica.’_ ” She pauses. “And then there’s a frowny face.”

Dean brings up the department interface on his laptop and logs into the NYPD servers. A quick search under Raphael Malakhov confirms who ‘R’ is. Castiel’s half-brother is serving several consecutive life sentences at Attica. “Raphael, the half-brother.” Dean tells Bradbury. “Michael’s right hand man after he fell out with Luca.”

“Cas was going to go and see if he had any info?” she guesses.

“Probably. He’d be able to do it unofficially even, he’d have family visitation rights.”

Bradbury glances at her watch. “Well, it’s like a 6 hour drive…” she says. “If we leave now we can get there by 6 or 7 am, grab a bite to eat somewhere, and then head in bright and early to question this guy.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “ _We?_ Walker’s gonna be pissed if he finds out you’re helping me.”

She shrugs. “Your DA bestie is in big trouble and from the sounds of things was on the verge of breaking something huge. We find him, I’m pretty sure the Lieutenant will end up having to give us commendations instead of reprimands.”

Dean knows he should argue – Bradbury’s young and risking her entire career - but Cas is out there somewhere in the hands of a mad man fond of torture and really, he’ll take any help he can get.


	3. Chapter 3

The drive up is tense. Bradbury tries her best to lighten Dean’s mood, and she’s pretty fun – a lot more fun than Bobby – but even light-hearted discussions about Star Wars and video games and ribbing over Dean’s ‘mullet rock’ taste in music can’t keep him distracted for long. Bradbury ends up snoring softly, curled against the window, and Dean keeps thinking back to the more gruesome things he’d read about Cas’s brothers. The thought of Cas in the hands of Luca makes him feel sick.

They stop in Binghamton for coffee and Bradbury insists on driving the second half so Dean can grab some shut eye. Normally Dean would refuse – he barely lets _Sam_ drive his baby – but he needs to be on the ball when they question Raphael.

Sleeping in the front seat is never that comfy, but that’s not the problem. Neither is the hum of the engine or the hiss of tarmac under the tires. If anything, they bring back nostalgic memories of being driven around by his dad, Sammy asleep in the back, but Dean can’t sleep. He shuts his eyes, rests his head against the window, listens to lego rattle in the old AC and _worries._

For all he knows Luca has already made an example of Castiel. He could be gone, vanished, never to be seen again just like his sister. It’ll be four days Cas’s been gone in the morning. Luca might have already finished with him. Dumped him a shallow grave somewhere.

When Bradbury pulls into Attica just before 7, he hasn’t slept at all.

***

The mug shots hadn’t quite prepared Dean for Raphael’s… _presence_. He’s tall and broad shouldered, not a scrap of fat on him, just lean muscle. He dwarfs the table he’s chained to in his orange jumpsuit. It’s not just that though, there’s not much to do inside and plenty of inmates turn their attention to getting as ripped as possible. It’s everything else.

He’s sitting up straight, posture perfect, and he regards Dean and Bradbury with far more intelligence than most inmates and not a speck of fear.

“Mr Malakhov.” Dean greets him. “I’m Detective Winchester, this is Detective Bradbury. We’ve got a few questions for you.”

Raphael stares at him stonily. His hands are folded, his nails neatly trimmed. The faded ink tattooed across his knuckles looks out of place. As do the lines of Cyrillic script poking past his collar. He looks like he belongs in a boardroom in a suit and tie, not in a prison in a jumpsuit and cuffs. He’s out of place and in Dean’s experience that means he’s more dangerous. People with the level of intelligence Raphael has behind his eyes don’t get sucked into a life of crime by poverty or circumstance, they _choose_ it. This man is every inch Vadim’s son.

Stealing himself, Dean takes a seat opposite the silent man. Bradbury stands a little behind him instead of taking the other chair. “Have you had any contact with any of your brothers recently Mr Malakhov?”

Raphael raises an eyebrow. “My brothers are dead.”

“Luca, Gabriel and Castiel are all alive and kicking as far as we know.” Dean replies lightly.

Raphael doesn’t react. “As I said, my _brothers_ are dead.”

Dean nods. “Okay, I get that.” he says. “I can understand Gabriel and Castiel probably aren’t your favorite people. Betraying the family and all that. They’re the ones that got you locked up right?”

Raphael doesn’t reply, just blinks slowly.

“What about Luca though?” Dean continues. “You sure you haven’t heard from him lately?”

The older man’s jaw clenches and his hands shift a little on the table. Dean notes the movement. “He killed Mikhail didn’t he? And Anya? And your father?” Nothing had ever been proven, but the author of the book Dean had been reading seemed to think Vadim’s bloody end had been an inside job.

Still Raphael refuses to speak, but his eyes narrow.

“Well, just a heads up, he’s back and gunning for Malakhovs.” Dean tells him with a shrug. “Looks like he’s trying to get back into the family business over here and getting revenge as he goes.”

Raphael rolls his eyes. “Don’t waste my time with _games_ Detective. Tell me what you came here for. If it suits my purpose, I may cooperate, if it does not, well. I have more important things to be doing.”

Dean snorts. “Like what?”

“Well, I have yet to have my breakfast.” Raphael drawls. “The eggs here are magnificent.”

“Castiel was building a case against Luca.” Dean snaps. “And now he’s gone missing and as much as you hate Castiel, I’m willing to bet you hate Luca a whole lot more.” Dean pauses. “I read Mikhail’s autopsy report.” He whistles. “Wow. If that had been _my_ brother, I can tell you, I’d be pissed. That Luca is sick fuck.”

“Do not speak of Mikhail!” Raphael spits, eyes wide and white, his chains jangling as he jerks forward against their hold.

Dean has to forcibly restrain the urge to flinch away from the movement. Bradbury lets out a little squeak from somewhere past his shoulder. Raphael’s like a chained tiger or something. Dean holds up his hands placatingly. “Whoa there buddy!” he says. “I’m not the one that tortured him and burned him alive.”

Raphael snarls, white teeth gleaming.

“But I can get the guy that _did_ locked up.” Dean glances around the interview room. “I hear you’re the big Kahuna in this joint.” He gives Raphael a look. “I bet you have all sorts of connections. My guess is Luca’d be pretty screwed if he ended up locked up in here.”

Raphael quietens, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You think you can bribe me with so flimsy an offer?”

“It’s not really flimsy, or a bribe. I want Luca locked up, and since he’s a violent psychopath, this is where most any judge in New York’ll send him.” Dean shrugs. “Totally above board.” He glances at Bradbury, who’s standing tensely near the door, staring at Raphael. “Right Bradbury?”

“Sure. It’ll be straight to Supermax - do not pass go - for that creep.”

Dean gives Raphael a winning smile. “I’m not asking you to rat Mr Malakhov.” he says. “I’m offering you the chance to get revenge on the guy that betrayed your family and murdered Mikhail.”

Raphael huffs.

“Would Castiel have turned on you if Luca hadn’t killed Anya and Vadim?” Dean asks. “He’d probably still be living in a bubble, totally unaware of what you boys and daddy were up to. Seems like Luca’s the reason the Malakhovs got shut down and you’re in here instead of still living it up with big bro.”

He’s trying not to react, but Dean can see that he’s getting to Raphael. The guy must _really_ hate Luca. There’s nothing quite like the hatred that family betrayal can create. “He’s kidnapped Castiel and he’ll turn his sights on you and Gabriel soon enough.”

“I don’t care what he does to that maggot Castiel. Or Gabriel for that matter. They’re traitors.”

“You think he’s going to take care of them and just leave you?” Bradbury asks. “From what I’ve read about him, he seems pretty thorough and you’re a sitting duck in here, Raphael _Vadimovich_.”

Raphael glares at her. “He can’t touch me.”

“So you’re just gonna hide in here then?” Dean asks casually. “Let Luca get rid of Castiel and Gabriel and take over the Bratva’s business?”

“Luca couldn’t run a _Lemonade stand,_ let alone a _business.”_ Raphael scoffs.

“Castiel seemed to think he had those old Cartel connections up and running again.” Dean says. “In a big way.”

Raphael sneers. “Luca could never replace Mikhail or father. He has no respect, no integrity. His word is dirt.” He waves a hand, making his chains clank. “Maybe the cartels are dealing with him for now, but they’ll plant him in some hole in the desert before too long.”

“Huh. And you’re cool with that?” Dean asks. “Letting some Mexican drug smugglers take out your brother?”

“He deserves worse.”

“Yeah, I agree with you there.” Dean says. “Figured you be willing to help me out so that can happen.”

Raphael licks his lips. Dean can tell that he’s tempted. Dean wasn’t exaggerating, Raphael isn’t exactly languishing in prison. He’s carved himself out a new niche inside. If Luca ended up in the system, it would only be a matter of time before Raphael got his hands on his half-brother.

“Castiel can get him locked up.” Dean tells him. “Help me find him, and Luca’ll be sporting an orange jumpsuit in no time.”

“Where would he have taken him?” Bradbury asks.

For a long moment Raphael is silent. “ _If_ Luca were alive and _if_ he had taken Castiel… he would keep him close.” He inhales heavily, jaw clenching. “We searched far and wide for Anya, but that was our mistake. She never left the house.”

Dean inhales sharply. “Your sister?" he asks, thinking of the pretty red-headed girl with big eyes smiling Cas's smile in the book he'd downloaded. "You  _found_ her?”

Raphael glares. “What was left of her to find.” He looks down at his hands for a moment, fingers clenching. “Blood and ashes, a few charred bones.”

Dean frowns, trying not to imagine what Luca did to the last sibling he had his hands on. Things that had left Anya ‘blood and ashes’ as Raphael put it. What he could be doing to Cas right now. “So you’re saying Cas is still at his apartment?” he asks skeptically.

Raphael shrugs. “He will be nearby if not. Somewhere Luca can watch Castiel’s loved ones scrabble from.” He pauses and sneers in memory. “He enjoyed that, the panic and fear.”

Dean thinks of the tall buildings all around Cas’s place. The countless windows looking down onto the street and Cas’s brownstone. There’d be _hundreds._

“With father, with Mikhail, they did what they had to, but it was always business.” Raphael muses. “But with Luca…” He shakes his head. “He’s sick. Perverted. A rabid dog that turned on his master.”

Dean ignores his rambling. “You need to give us more Raphael. Narrow it down.”

“I don’t _need_ to do anything.” Raphael drawls. “You should hurry though. As much as I despise him, I won’t deny that Luca is an _artist_ with a blade, with a flame… but he’s not a patient man.” He smiles. “How long has he had little Cassie to play with? A day? Two?”

Dean swallows heavily.

“Oh I see, longer?” Raphael tsks with false sadness. “I’m afraid there may not be much of the little cherub left then.” He smirks. “You should hurry. _Detective.”_

***

It’s after lunch before they make it to back to New York. Bobby’s left several increasingly annoyed messages, demanding updates and complaining about Walker, but Dean ignores them. Turns his phone off. He drops Bradbury off at the precinct with instructions to use her computer skills to try and find where Luca might be hiding while he heads straight for Cas’s apartment again, intending to go over the place with a fine tooth comb if he has too. He needs to figure out where Luca is hiding Cas. _Now._

The door is locked, just like he left it, but the moment Dean lets himself in he can tell that someone’s been inside.

He draws his gun and creeps around the corner. The living room is empty, but the bookshelves have been messily gone through. The kitchen is likewise empty, but cupboard doors have been left open. There’s a noise from Cas’s bedroom. Dean slowly approaches the partially open door, safety thumbed off, heart in his throat.

Whatever he’s expecting, it’s not what he finds.

There’s a short man lying on the carpet, peering out of Cas’s bedroom window with a set of binoculars.

“Who the hell are you!?” Dean barks, training his gun on the intruder’s head.

The guy jumps a little and is abruptly sitting up, a gun appearing in his hand as if by magic.  “Who the hell are _you!?”_ he yells back.

Dean frowns as he recognizes the sandy hair and hazel eyes from photos stuck to the fridge and semi-pornographic pictures featuring strippers on Cas’s phone. “…Gabriel?”

The man narrows his eyes suspiciously, and Dean can suddenly see a family resemblance to Cas in that expression if nothing else. “Dean?” he guesses.

Dean nods.

Gabriel instantly drops his gun and rolls to his feet. “What the fuck’s going on here?” he demands. Up close Dean can make out a tattoo of what looks like a topless mermaid peeking out from his collar. “Why haven’t you been looking for Castiel?” He glares. “You’re _meant_ to be his best friend!”

“I _have_ been looking for him!” Dean replies. “I just got back from Attica. I was grilling Raphael.”

Gabriel's entire face shifts and his tone lightens. “And how is dear Raphy? Still boring as ever? He give you anything?”

Dean blinks. Gabriel talks _really_ fast. “He uh, he said Luca wouldn’t have taken Cas far, and that if I didn’t find him soon he’d probably be dead.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “ _I_ could have told you all that. Saved you a lot of legwork.”

“You wouldn’t answer your goddamn phone!” Dean snaps, suddenly livid. “I couldn’t even get the Lieutenant to declare Cas properly missing since he had no family to report him!”

“Lieutenant _Walker?”_ Gabriel asks.

Dean nods.

“He wouldn’t declare Cassie missing if I turned up at the precinct crying with a ransom note and a few severed fingers.”

“What?”

“He’s _dirty._ ” Gabriel says with a sneer.

“No he’s not.” Dean replies. “I mean, he’s a giant fucking _dick_ , but he’s a good cop--” With an appreciation for Dean’s butt if Bradbury’s to be believed. “--He’s not dirty.” Dean’d stake his badge on it.

Gabriel shrugs. “Luca can be very persuasive.”

“So what are you doing?” Dean asks warily, dropping the Walker issue for now.

“Looking for the nest Luca’s undoubtedly stashed poor Cassie in.” He turns and points out the window. “There’s only one building with views through Cassie’s bedroom _and_ living room windows.”

Dean follows his gaze. It’s a hotel a few blocks away. “You think he’s got Cas in a _hotel?_ ” he asks skeptically. It seemed unlikely. Hotels were incredibly insecure. People coming and going at all times, rooms easily broken into. Staff with access to keys. Hundreds of potential witnesses. Lots of surveillance cameras.

“Hiding in plain sight.” Gabriel says. “Luca’s thing.” He peers out the window again. “Pretty sure he’ll be between the fourth and eighth floors. View’d be obscured otherwise.” He nods to himself and turns away from the window, giving Dean a thorough once over, eyes lingering on Dean’s gun. “You any good with that thing?” he asks dubiously.

Dean frowns. “Yeah. I’m awesome.”

“Good. Cause we’re the cavalry, and Luca’s goons won’t be shooting blanks.”

“Wait, we’re just gonna…” Dean waves towards the window and the hotel.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “No one else is going to.”

“Four floors? That’s how many rooms?” Dean asks. “We can’t just burst in there guns blazing!”

“Don’t see any other option.” Gabriel replies, way too blasé about what sounds a lot like a suicide mission to Dean.

“No. We need more manpower.” he insists. “If we fuck this up Cas’s dead. You’re here now, Walker’ll _have_ to take this seriously.”

Gabriel glares and is suddenly right up in Dean’s face, somehow managing to loom threateningly despite his height. “Listen here pretty boy. Walker’s _dirty._ Your cop buddies can’t help us.” He pokes Dean in the chest, hard. “Now I’m gonna go get my little brother. _You_ can either come and help or sit here with your thumb up your ass.”

“Uh...”

Gabriel seems to be on the level. Dean wracks his brain, trying to remember what Cas’s has said about him, if he’s trustworthy, but all that comes to mind are anecdotes involving nudity and alcohol. Cas has always spoken of Gabriel _fondly_ though… And that’s what makes up Dean’s mind. “Okay okay.” he says. “So… We leave Walker out of it.”

Gabriel glares at him for a few more moments before taking a step back. “Good. So, first things first. Where’s Cassie’s cat?”

Dean looks at him blankly. “Huh?”

Gabriel shrugs. “He’s attached to that furball. He’ll be pissed if we spring him and it’s roadkill somewhere.”

Suddenly Dean is blushing. “I um… He’s at my place.”

Cas’s brother raises an eyebrow and smirks. “You’re cat sitting for Cassie?”

Dean scowls. “Like you said, he’s attached to Assbutt.” And speaking of, Dean probably needs to feed him…

“What’s your address?” Gabriel asks, shoving his gun into the back of his jeans and adjusting his jacket so it’s not obvious.

Dean tells him and Gabriel nods. “I’ll meet you there in an hour. I need to pick up a few things.”

***

Assbutt howls piteously when he lets himself in, and Dean picks him up and apologizes for leaving him alone. He doesn’t have any cat food, but the can of Sam’s preferred brand low-fat dolphin friendly tuna he dumps out for him seems to meet with his approval.

With nothing else to do, Dean paces and frets. He’s exhausted and wired at the same time. Every instinct he has as a cop is telling him to call it in, to get back up, that he shouldn’t be trusting _Gabriel Malakhov_ over his own Lieutenant, no matter how much of a dick Walker is. And then there’s Bobby… Bobby is trustworthy. Bobby would help. And Ellen. And Bradbury. And Henriksen. Even if he is in Vice, Dean’s known him since the academy and there's no way Victor's dirty. He'd probably fuckin' _jump_ at the chance to get a Malakhov in cuffs. 

Then again, he’s still not convinced Walker's dirty, so maybe he’s not the judge of character he thought he was. But Bobby, there’s _no way_ Bobby’s dirty. None.

But should he drag his partner into all this? He’s no spring chicken anymore.

Fuck. He just doesn’t know what the hell to do.

When his doorbell goes twenty minutes later he’s sitting on his couch, every firearm he owns spread out across the coffee table in front of him, anxiously patting Assbutt. He takes the cat with him, and a loaded 9mm, to answer it.

Bobby is standing in the hall, looking supremely pissed. “This better be good.” he mutters, shoving his way past Dean, eyeing the cat suspiciously. “Walker’s been riding my ass all day and he’s not buying the shit I’m spinning.” He breaks off as he comes to a stop in front of Dean’s makeshift arsenal. “What _stupid_ godddamn thing are you about to pull boy!?” He picks up Dean’s prized Paterson Colt, more of an antique than a weapon, even though it still works. “Pistols at dawn?”

Dean sighs and puts the cat down. He tells his partner everything that’s happened since he last saw him and watches as Bobby’s frown deepens and deepens. “Well _balls._ ” he says at length, summing shit up way more politely than Dean would.

“So this _Luca_ has Novak--” Bobby frowns. “-- or Malakhov I ‘spose I should say, and his brother wants to go in there guns blazing to save him ‘cause Walker’s supposedly dirty?”

Dean nods.

“Stupid fuckin’ idea.” Bobby tells him.

Dean nods again.

“You’re what, gonna go in there and bang down doors and hope you strike it lucky? Four friggin’ floors of a hotel?” Bobby scoffs. “He’ll hear you coming and pop Novak- _Cas_ , if he can’t get him out.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Dean agrees. “I dunno what to do though. If Walker’s dirty, he can get word to Luca that we’re on to him way before a team could get to him.”

Bobby takes a seat, frowning his ‘thinking’ frown. “I reckon we can swing this without Walker getting whiff of it.” he says. “Get Ellen to pass it off as something he won’t suspect… Robbery, bomb threat… maybe terrorist training exercise or something. God knows there’s one of them every other damn week it seems.”

Gabriel is not so easily convinced. He turns up fifteen minutes after Bobby and proceeds to shit all over their plan. “You think your Lieutenant’s the only cop in Luca’s pocket?” He scoffs. “He’s probably got half the entire force paid off!”

Bobby glares. “Well he doesn’t have the Captain paid off, and she’s perfectly capable of running an operation on the down low. We’ll call in a bomb threat and she’ll scamble swat. They won’t know we’re going after Luca until we’re already on him.”

Dean crosses his arms and backs his partner up. “This is our best shot at getting Cas out alive.” he says. “I know you don’t trust cops, but Bobby and the Captain, I’ve known them my whole life, and they _like_ Cas. You can trust them Gabe. Seriously.”

Gabriel purses his lips so tightly they turn white. “If this blows up in our faces Winchester,” he says. “I’ll make whatever Luca did to Cas seem like a walk in the park. You get me?”

“Yeah man, I get you.” Dean tells him. “I’ve got a little brother too.”

Gabriel stares for a long moment, then nods. “Well if we’re doing this big and _stupid,_ ” he says. “Might as well go all out.”

***

“This is never gonna work.” Dean hisses.

Gabriel doesn’t even look at him, just shushes him from the seat opposite, focused on the phone in his hands. “Shut it Winchester. This is totally gonna work.”

The big scary looking guy sitting beside him gives Dean the cold dead stare of a killer. Or someone with diminished mental capabilities and a long term association with steroids. Dean looks out the window to avoid it. Traffic’s pretty heavy, but they are steadily making their way towards the hotel Luca’s holed up in.

“Success!” Gabriel crows.

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Luca is now expecting a visit from one of daddy dearest’s old Avtorityets.”

“Av-tori-what now?” 

“Lieutenant. Luca’ll be expecting an old brother come to join his new venture.”

“Um, won’t he, you know…” Dean gestures to the shorter man. “-- _recognize_ you? You’re his _brother._ His _actual_ brother.”

Gabriel shrugs. “Unlikely.” He pouts and strikes a ridiculous pose. “I’ve had work done.” He flicks his hair. “And my hair’s like, super long now.”

It’s not reassuring. Dean knows he’d recognize Sam with a wig and nose job. He’s 99% sure Luca will see right through Gabriel’s farce. Still, he’ll probably want to gloat or kill Gabriel, so they’ll probably make it to his hideout even if they are discovered the moment they walk in.

Gabriel’s big scary friend precedes them into the building, looking every inch the scary Russian bodyguard he's meant to be. As he steps across the threshold and into the foyer, a change comes over Gabriel. He stands straighter, that loose-limbed lazy sprawl tightening into something controlled and intense. The smirk melts off his face and he’s suddenly cool and calculating. The change is, frankly, disturbing. He’s like a different person. Abruptly Dean remembers that Gabriel, for all his jokes and the stories Cas has told him, was a Bratva Avtori… Avtory... _Lieutenant_ for years.

Dean falls in just behind his right shoulder, playing the respectful second. Big, dumb and scary leads them straight to the bank of lifts. Two men in suits meet them, both as big and scary as Gabriel’s buddy, and they exchange a few low murmurs in what Dean guesses is Russian before leading the way to the nearest lift.

Both the new suits are heavily armed. Tell tale bulges at their sides and the back of their jackets. Dean guesses they are each packing at least three guns. Probably have big fuck-off knives strapped around their ankles and other gnarly shit too. The lift ascends in perfect, eerie silence. They get off at the fifth floor. Dean’s heart is doing that painful squeezing thing again. He’s pretty sure he’s not gonna make it out of the building. Waltzing in here is probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done. Sammy's gonna be so pissed...

Years of training fail him utterly when Gabriel and Big and Scary exercise some kind of psychic Russian telepathy and in a flurry of movement have silenced guns pointed at Luca’s guards who have matching bulletholes in their skulls before they can scramble for any of the heat they’re packing.

Dean stares at the bodies, the spreading bloodstains on the carpet. “ _What the hell?!”_ he hisses at Gabriel.

The older man shrugs. “Luca knows we’re here, just improving the odds.” Behind him Big and Scary casually breaks into the nearest room. Gabriel points at the nearest dead guy. “Get his feet.”

They drag them into the - thankfully empty - hotel room and leave them there. Gabriel pulls up the keycard liberated from one of their pockets. “Room 66” he tells Dean.

Dean nods and pulls out the shitty prepaid he’s using to communicate with Bobby. _Room 66. 2 dead in 63._

Bobby replies almost instantly. _2 mins_

It's actually closer to three before his phone buzzes again. _exits covered_

“We’re good.” Dean tells Gabriel. “They’re in position. Ready to move in if we fuck up or catch Luca if he runs.”

The older man nods, twisting a silencer onto a machine pistol of a make Dean doesn’t recognize, but that he’s 100% certain is all kinds of illegal. The 9mm he'd used to pop the dude bleeding at their feet is no where in sight.

“Where the hell did you have that stashed?” Dean asks.  “Your _ass?_... And what is it?”

“Oh this old thing?” Gabriel asks. Beside him Big and Scary has _two_ identical guns and something approaching an actual expression on his face. He looks pleased. “Just something I picked up.” He loads a long magazine into it with a snap. “Well, let’s not keep big bro waiting!” he finishes flippantly before leading the way back into the hallway.

Dean pauses for a moment in doorway, checking his own far less impressive glock, takes a deep breath, and then follows.

***

It’s all a bit anticlimactic.

Gabriel opens the door, bellows “Honey I’m home!” and yes, then there is a brief firefight - Big and Scary rolls across the carpet with impressive dexterity for someone resembling Andre the Giant and he and Gabriel empty their clips with wild abandon into the assortment of scary dudes lounging around the room while Dean throws himself behind a couch – but it’s over in what seems like matter of seconds.

Gabriel steps up to Dean, snapping a new cartridge into his gun, and kicks him where he’s crouching. “Up and at ‘em Deano.”

When he stands it’s to find himself in the middle of massacre. There’s blood everywhere and half a dozen thugs sprawled across couches. A big TV is still playing soccer on the wall opposite, despite the blood splatters, and one of the thugs is moaning and gurgling from where he’s laid out on the carpet in front of it. Big and Scary kicks him onto his back and puts a bullet between his eyes. Out in the hotel, someone screams at the noise. Even with silencers, the guns Gabriel and his buddy are using are noisy as fuck.

Gabriel motions to the closed door on the other side of the room and Big and Scary nods, hustling over to take position beside it.

Dean follows, trying to keep his wits about him, but the whole situation is so out of his comfort zone that he’s having trouble. Only a minute or two can have passed since they came through the door and yet… he glances again at the totaled room.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by Gabriel knocking jauntily on the door. “Lucy?” he calls.

There’s a muffled noise and then a thump. For a moment there’s silence. “ _Gabe?”_ someone calls out in what sounds like pleasant surprise.

Gabriel closes his eyes for a moment and Dean can see him steel himself, then he pushes open the door like he’s not worried about being blown to bits at all. He saunters inside with a cocky smile on his face, but the hand gripping his gun is tense. “Long time no see bro.” he says.

“ _Bratishka.”_ someone replies fondly.

Dean and Big and Scary exchange a look then follow him inside.

It’s a pretty standard hotel room. There’s a blonde man standing over by the tall windows, apparently unarmed apart from wicked looking silver knife he’s using to pick at his fingernails. It’s stained brown with smears of dried blood. Dean recognizes him as Luca but ignored him to scan the room for Cas. It’s empty. The bed is neatly made. There’s nothing out of place, not even luggage, just Luca standing at the window.

“I must admit,” Luca says quietly. “I didn’t expect you to slither out from under your rock just yet.”

“Well you know me, full of surprises.”

“Where’s Cas?” Dean demands, pointing his gun steadily at Luca. The guy turns and settles his full attention on Dean and smiles. He has weird scars, like burns, on his cheeks and forehead. They make him look like he’s _rotting_ or something.

“Ah, _Dean Winchester._ ” he says. “Now _you,_ I _was_ expecting.” His smile somehow gets bigger. It’s creepy as all hell. “Cassie will be so pleased you’ve finally arrived.”

“Where is he?!” Gabriel snaps, all traces of humor gone from his voice and his gun, which Dean’s now pretty sure is an old Steyr full-auto or maybe a newer MP9, (Very Illegal), trained on him. Off to one side Big and Scary has one of his aimed back at front door but the other is also covering Luca.

But despite having _three_ guns trained on him, Luca still looks nothing but smug. “Oh, he’s around.” he says, glancing towards the closed bathroom door. Dean’s across the room and ripping it nearly off its hinges in an instant. He hears Gabriel calling out behind him, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t stop to listen.

The small bathroom is just as mundane as the bedroom – shower, counter, white fluffy towels and little bottles of complimentary shampoo. Dean lifts his gun scanning the small space on automatic, but it’s empty. No Cas. No nothing. He turns back towards the door to tell Gabriel as much just in time to see Big and Scary’s head explode with an awful wet noise, painting the wall behind him red, and Gabriel stumble backwards as he’s gut shot.

Gabriel’s gun goes off, drawing a line across the floor and blowing out the windows, and then Cas’s brothers crumples to the floor in a heap. Thugs pile into the bedroom past Big and Scary’s body and Dean lifts his gun, intending to shoot as many as possible before he goes the same way, but the door in front of him is abruptly kicked shut from the inside.

Dean flinches in shock at the grey-skinned man suddenly in his face, grinning at him like a ghoul and has just enough time to realize that he’d been hiding behind the door the entire time before he’s on him. Dean squeezes off a shot but all it does is blow a hole in the door, and then there’s a sharp pain in his neck and a slimy voice crooning in his ear. “ _There there grasshopper, nap time.”_

The tiles are cold and hard when he slumps down onto them, and distantly he can hear gunfire and sirens.


	4. Chapter 4

He’s not woken up by paramedics or Bobby as he’d hoped, but by the grinning manic with the syringe.

“Finally awake?” he asks, and his voice is sibilant and faintly accented.

Dean's arms ache, his wrists burn and there’s an awful smoky smell in the air. Like burnt pork or BBQ. He’s lying on something hard and cold, a bench or a metal gurney maybe and his arms and legs re strapped down tightly with what feel like dozens of zip ties or wire.

He blinks, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the light. It’s bright and fluorescent, burning.

Eventually he gets the ceiling into focus and stretches his neck to bring the room itself into view. It’s a large living room. Nicely furnished. Kitchen visible off to one side, what looks like an entrance hall off the other. He’s certain he’s never been in the place before, but it’s weirdly familiar.

As he cranes his head around he brings something else into view. A gurney that reminds Dean of the ones at the morgue is sitting opposite him and staring at him with wide terrified blue eyes, is Cas. He’s dressed in only a pair of stained dress pants and every bit of him that Dean can see is bloody and bruised in a way that makes him furious. He’s gagged but he lets out a muffled noise of recognition or anger or maybe apology when Dean meets his eyes. He can’t quite tell.

“Cas!” Dean croaks, jerking in his restraints.

The grey-faced man walks in between them blocking Dean’s view. “Uh-uh-uh!” he tutts. “No speaking out of turn.”

Dean glares. “Bite me freak.”

The man squats down so he’s at eye-level. “I might just take you up on that offer Dean-o. You look mmm--” He pauses and gives Dean’s prone body a lingering once over. “-- _delicious.”_

Over his shoulder Castiel is glaring fiercely, looking more pissed that Dean’s ever seen. He’s growling something furious, the words muffled by the gag. Their captor seems amused by the outburst since he leans over and pulls at the rag in Cas’s mouth saying “Oh all right then angel, tell us what’s on your mind.”

Cas lets rip with what Dean assumes is like, _every_ bad word that exists in Russian, since it goes on for quite a while. After a minute he sneers and switches to English. “You’re scum Alistair. _Predatel._ You’re going to die bloody.”

The guy – Alistair – lets out an amused snort. “Oh _I’m_ the traitor? That’s pretty rich coming from you _brother_.”

“I’m not your _brother.”_ Cas spits. “You betrayed Vadim, you betrayed Mikhail. _I_ only betrayed their murderer.”

Alistair stands and rolls his eyes, yanking Cas’s gag back into place despite his wriggling. “Oh _please._ You betrayed the entire Brotherhood. All to save your own skin and your precious Gabriel.”

Cas glares at him.

“Speaking of…” Alistair settles his attention back on Dean. “Gabriel’s dead isn’t he green eyes?”

Cas’s eyes snap sideways to lock onto Dean’s in shock and worry. Dean feels his heart sink. Suddenly he wishes he was gagged. “You’re a _fucker.”_ he grits. “And when I get outta these I’m gonna cut that smirk off your fucking face.”

Alistair rolls his eyes. “ _Americans._ All talk.” He moves out of Dean’s line of sight and comes back with a blade. “Now, answer the question. Tell Cassie here about what happened, how Luca blew a few holes through Gabriel just like he did to dear papa.” The threat is obvious, but Dean’s stubborn.

“Eat me.”

Alistair licks his lips. “I’m quite partial to the _other_ other white meat you know.” He slaps down a hand on Dean’s thigh. “And you seem quite the specimen.” He turns his back to Dean and continues to Cas in a stage whisper. _“I can see why you’re so fond of him.”_

***

Dean _tries_ but Alistair seems to know _just_ where to cut him, where to drag that _fucking_ blade of his to make his nerves _scream_ in agony, and Dean doesn’t last that long and besides, Cas deserves to know what happened to his brother. He meets his friend's big wet eyes sadly. “Sorry Cas.” he pants. “Luca… Luca shot Gabe in the guts. He’s dead.”

Alistair puts down his knife. “Oh well done handsome.” He strokes bony fingers across Dean’s brow, along the line of his cheek. “See? Now that wasn’t so hard was it?”

“Fuck you.” Dean spits.

Alistair sighs and tips something that burns over the cuts he’s made into Dean’s chest and shoulders. It stings like a motherfucker but Dean can tell from the smell that it’s only vinegar. He knows Alistair’s only been playing with him so far, giving him the baby treatment, and he’s able to stay quiet despite how much it hurts.

As he shifts on the gurney, trying to get comfortable, he feels the hard lump of his shitty little burner phone in his pocket, the plastic digging into his thigh. For a moment he can’t believe it. His gun is gone, as is the bowie he’d strapped to his ankle. He’d just assumed they would have found the little disposable phone as well. Apparently not. Although, it could just be some trick.

Probably.

It’s not until much later, when Cas’s little gasps and moans of pain are muffled into his gag as Luca whispers to him in Russian and scrapes his fingers over the fresh marks Alistair's left in his skin, that the lump vibrates in a pulse in Dean’s pocket.

It _is_ his phone. And it’s still on… Which means Bobby knows where he is. Which means he just has to hold on, stay… not dead, until he gets here. No way Bobby or Ellen are going to leave him to some creepy mobsters. They’re probably planning something right now. They’re expecting Cas and Dean for Christmas dinner after all. No way Ellen’s gonna let some dick like Luca fuck up her seating arrangement.

The next time both Alistair and Luca are out his line of sight, Dean catches Cas’s eyes and smirks at him. When Cas raises a weary eyebrow in an a way that seems to question his sanity, Dean gives him a wink. Cas blinks back owlishly in confusion.

Not less than ten minutes later, a door gets kicked in somewhere and the sweet sounds of yelling members of SWAT fills the air.

Dean can’t really see what’s going on from his position strapped to the gurney, but he hears a lot of gunfire and barked orders and demands for surrender, so he can tell which way it’s playing out. He gets cut loose by an officer he vaguely recognizes behind his mask, and is steady enough on his feet to sort of flop over towards Cas. He pulls out the gag while another Swat guy slices through the restraints on Cas’s arms and legs. Zip ties that have left Cas’s wrists and ankles bloody and red.  The muscle in Cas’s jaw flexes and his eyes scrunch in pain as blood rushes back to his fingers and his injuries are jarred. Helplessly, Dean pushes his matted hair back from his face in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

Seeing up close, from above, what Alistair and Luca have done to him – the burns and cuts covering his arms and torso, makes Dean grind his teeth in futile anger. His fingers are clearly broken, twisted and mishappen, he's got a black eye, a fat lip and his chest is just a fucking _mess._  Dean wants to take a knife and a hammer and pay the fuckers back a hundred fold.

The last tie is cut and Cas flexes his arms out, stretching as if testing them, and then he’s lurching up and grabbing awkwardly at Dean despite his fucked up hands, hauling himself into a sitting position.

“Hey easy--” Dean starts, gripping Cas on the back of shoulder where he’s pretty sure there’s no injury, trying to help him, but he’s cut off almost immediately by Cas’s mouth crashing into his.

His entire body locks up in shock and his eyes try to pop out of his head, which means he has a fuzzy super close-up- view of Cas’s furrowed brow and dirty hair as chapped lips press forcefully into his and a shaking palm presses into the back of his neck. He tastes like blood and salt.

 _Oh my god Cas is kissing you!_ his brain informs him in a kind of horrified amazement. The thought is immediately followed up by: _He’s probably drugged. Or in shock. Both maybe._

With that in mind, Dean draws away gently, heat flaring in his cheeks. The two swat guys are pointedly ignoring both of them.

“Uh….” Dean manages, very intelligently.

Cas blinks a few times as he opens his eyes. He doesn’t _seem_ horrified or embarrassed by the fact that he just laid one Dean, but again, probably not quite with the program yet. Dean gives his shoulder a manly squeeze, trying to convey ‘I’m not mad you kissed me, bro. We’re totally cool.’ without words. Cas frowns a little and Dean’s not sure any of it got through. He seems to come to his senses a little though, eyes sharping up, frown intensifying.

“Dean.” he croaks, voice sounding even more gravelly than usual, and Dean’s guts drop.

“Yeah man?”

Cas shifts so his bloody hands are curled in his lap. They look _super_ fucked up. “Is Gabriel really…?” he starts then trails off, voice unsteady, eyes huge and blue and _sad_ and oh god, it’s worse, so much worse than Sam after that stray he bought home, ( _Bones_ he’d called it), got hit by that car and Dean swallows, feeling his own eyes get hot and wet, weird kiss momentarily forgotten.

“Yeah.” he says. “I’m sorry. Alistair wasn’t lying about that, Luca shot him.”

Cas nods jerkily and closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths.

Dean uses the moment to scan his friend’s injuries again. There’s blood, dried brown and tacky red, all over him, so it’s hard to tell, but apart from his twisted fingers it looks mostly… superficial. Although there are a few areas, his right shoulder, his sternum, a patch low on his ribs, that are weeping and raw looking, almost as if the skin there is _gone_  or really badly burned and just looking has Dean wincing in sympathy.

Around them the apartment has quietened, no more gunfire or yelling. Luca and his goons have clearly been subdued. The Captain appears, flanked by Bobby and Bradbury, all of them in flak jackets. Dean notices Henriksen making his way down the hall behind her, heading further into the apartment. Vice are probably having a field day, Dean supposes. Nabbing the last fugitive Malakhov is a big deal. The Feds will probably _die_ of jealousy.

Bobby comes to a stop in front of them and gives Dean and Cas both a once over. “Surprised you two chuckleheads are still breathing.” he says, gruff as ever, but Dean can read the relief in that scowl of his. “ _Told_ you it was a shitty plan.” he tells Dean.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah. Save it old man.”

Ellen barges her way past and frowns a lot at Cas’s general state of… _shittiness_ and then huffs at Dean’s fat lip, actually grabbing his jaw and tilting his head for a better view like some embarrassing mom at a football game or something. “Bet you earned that with that big mouth of yours huh Winchester?” she asks. “Mouthing off at the crazy mobsters who zip-tied you to a--” She pauses and looks at the gurneys. “-- is that a goddamn autopsy table?” She shakes her head and raises her voice, yelling back over her shoulder. “Get the damn paramedics in here already! Novak looks like he went through a damn meat grinder.”

“I have only superficial injuries.” Cas mutters, flushing in embarrassment.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Dude, you look like a Bolton worked you over.”

Bradbury snorts in amusement and then quickly covers her mouth as Ellen and Bobby give her dirty looks. “Bolton?” she says. “You know? Cause he…” she points at Cas, her voice trailing off. “… looks half flayed…?”

“ _Flayed?”_ Bobby asks horror. “What the hell’s wrong with you kid?”

Cas sighs. “I believe Dean was humorously referring to questionable HBO programming.”

“Hey!” Dean replies. “Nothing questionable about it. And… maybe I was referring to the book huh? Think of that?”

“Yes Dean. I am familiar with your tastes in literature.” Cas drawls, sounding exhausted but as sarcastic as ever. “Cowboys, spaceships and dragons.”

Two EMTs arrive so Dean lets him get the last word.

***

Dean’s more or less fine. He needs a fuck ton of stitches and he’s got a few cracked ribs and a lump on his head, but whatever Alistair dosed him with doesn’t seem to have any lingering effects, even though they take a blood sample just to make sure.

Cas however, is a wreck.

He needs _skin grafts_ and a blood transfusion and _reconstructive surgery_ on his hands.

By the time Dean’s been stitched up and cleared to head home, his friend is already in the operating theatre. It’ll be hours before he’s out and longer still before he’s conscious, but Dean still heads upstairs to wait it out. He just needs to see Cas, make sure he’s okay and gonna wake up, then he’ll be able to go home.

Following the directions he’s given, he makes his way towards the room Cas is in. It’s off a hallway lined with ugly chairs, little clumps of people sitting in them with the same sort of weary exhaustion you find at 3am in an airport. Dean freezes in shock and stares.

Just outside the theatre Cas is in, is Gabriel.

He’s dressed in a different outfit - jeans, shirt and jacket in place of his suit, and he looks… fine.

“What the hell!?” Dean demands. “Gabriel?”

Cas’s brother looks up from his phone and grins that big cheesy grin of his. “Dean-o!”

Dean opens and closes his mouth a few times.

Gabriel shakes his head. “Cassie must like ‘em big ‘n’ dumb.” he says.

“I thought you were _dead!”_ Dean splutters, attracting a bit of attention from the zombies waiting around them.

The older man shrugs. “That was the general idea genius.” he replies. “You think I went in there without a few contingencies?” He snorts. “Have you _met_ my brother?”

“He _shot_ you!”

Gabriel slaps his stomach. “Kevlar baby.” he says. “Got a nasty bruise and it still hurt like a bitch, but hey! What can you do?”

Dean folds himself into the seat beside him, wincing a little as he pulls at some stitches in his side. Gabriel eyes his warily. “How’d _you_ pull up?” he asks.

“Carved up a bit, nothing major though.”

“Sorry bout that. Alistair’s a dick.”

“Got that right.”

“Heard he ate lead though.” Gabriel continues. “So there’s that.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, he pulled a gun on SWAT. Pity Luca wasn’t as dumb.” He jerks his head towards the swinging doors of the operating theater. “How’s Cas?”

“He’ll be fine.” Gabriel says. “Blood loss mostly. Lucifer was drawing it out, hadn’t gotten to the fun stuff.”

Dean thinks of the dark patches of skin he’d seen. “Looked like he had some nasty burns or something?”

Gabriel purses his lips. “Some. Lucy was being _symbolic._ ”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Symbolic?”

“Cas was only involved in the Brotherhood for a year or so,” Gabriel tells him. “and still a kid… But as you no doubt know, Mikhail made sure he was properly decorated.”

Thinking back to the mess of blood and marks on Cas’s torso Dean asks: “Tattoos?”

Gabriel frowns. “You didn’t know?”

Dean shrugs awkwardly. “Never seen Cas outta a long-sleeve. Just figured he was, you know, shy or something.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “You guys do it through a hole in a sheet or something?”

Blood rushes to Dean’s cheeks. “Shuddup. We’re not like that.”

“What? You two are _just friends_?” Gabriel asks smirking.

“Um, Yeah?”

Gabriel stares for a long, terribly awkward minute, like he expects Dean to crack.

“ _Wow._ You’re not kidding.” Gabriel shakes his head. “Cassie’s lovelife is even more pathetic than I suspected.” he mutters.

“Cas could date if he wanted to.” Dean says, offended on his friend’s behalf. “He’s just focused on his career.”

“And completely hung up on his best friend.” Gabriel replies.

“Cas doesn’t – It’s not – Cas doesn’t like me like that.”

Gabriel just shakes his head. “This is just downright _depressing_.”

Dean huffs and changes the subject. “So Cas has burns?”

“Yes. Burns and a few areas where Lucy ‘excised’ as the doc so charmingly put it, Castiel’s tattoos.”

Dean feels his stomach drop and thinks back to his flippant remarks about Boltons _._ “He cut _his skin off?_ ”

Gabriel hums. He doesn’t seem particularly upset. “It won’t look pretty, but they’ll patch him up fine. It’s his hands I’m worried about. They don’t think he’ll lose any fingers, but there’s lots of nerves and shit there they need to untangle.”

“How can you be so cool with this?!” Dean hisses. “Luca fucking _flayed_ Cas or some twisted medieval shit and you’re--”

“Cassie wasn’t exactly _fond_ of that ink Dean, and to be frank, I was expecting a lot worse.” Gabriel interrupts, voice gone all steely. “He mutilated Anna before dismembering and incinerating her in a boiler. He orchestrated our father’s assassination. He tortured and burnt Mikhail alive. And that’s just what he’s done to _family._ The things he did to the idiots father and Mik set him on? Our _enemies_?” He shakes his hair. “I expected to find Castiel half-eviscerated, _crucified,_ cut into a blood eagle or something equally macabre.”

Dean’s not sure how to respond to that.

“Cassie will have some ugly scars instead of ugly tattoos and he’ll never be a concert pianist. Boo hoo.” Gabriel shrugs. “He got off very lightly.”

The door opens and a guy in scrubs comes out. “Mr Novak?” he asks, glancing between them.

Gabriel stands up. “That’s me doc! How’s he doing?”

***

Dean eventually succumbs to exhaustion and heads back home for some shut eye. Gabriel rolls his eyes a lot and promises to call if anything changes with Cas.

The apartment is dark and there’s a faint unpleasant smell in the air that Dean thinks is Assbutt related, literally, but he’s too tired to do more than dump out a can of tuna for him and then collapse in a wincing heap on his couch.

There are things he should do – charge his dead phone, shower, brush his teeth… maybe eat something actually… But apart from his drug induced nap, he hasn’t sleep in what feels like weeks instead of days, and he’s drooling into the couch cushions in short order.

He flinches awake, disorientated and thoughts thick, awoken by someone banging on his door. Blearily he stumbles over and after a lot of fumbling with all the locks, manages to yank it open.

Benny fills the frame. He whistles lowly as he gives Dean a slow once-over. “Jesus brother. Sam wasn’t messing. You really did have an action-packed day at the office.”

Dean squints up at his friend and tries to parse that into English, to formulate an appropriate response, but it’s all a bit beyond him at this point. Benny brushes past him and heads towards the kitchen. “You look like you need a shower and some shut-eye.” he calls over his shoulder, banging things in Dean’s kitchen and talking to the cat. “I’m leaving some food here in the fridge. Make sure you eat it when you wake up okay?”

Dean says something, words, maybe, or perhaps just a series grunts. Benny shakes his head and claps him gently on the shoulder as he heads back out the door. “I’ll let Sam know you’re alive, but give the kid a call when you’re back in the land of the living would ya? You know how that big moose frets.”

Dean nods and manages a “Yeah. Yeah ‘course.” Since calling Sam _is_ important and he will _totally_ do that once he’s capable of you know, a conversation.

“If you need anything….” Benny offers. “You know where we are.”

Dean yawns hugely. “Thanks man.”

Benny grins. “Get some sleep.”

“You’re tha one… woke me up… bastard.” Dean slurs after his retreating back.

Benny wave a dismissive hand back over his shoulder. “Go to bed brother!”

Dean strips off and _thinks_ about showering, but he’s got tape and bandages everywhere and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the co-ordination to keep everything dry as he is, so he brushes his teeth and washes his face. He still feels sticky with dried sweat, but after he pulls on some clean boxers and collapses onto his bed, he still feels a whole lot better than ten minutes earlier.

He wakes up a few hours later to stinging pain across his chest and something holding him down. For a few seconds he flails in a blind panic, foggy flashes of Alistair and his blade and Cas torn up and bloody with Gabriel’s words echoing around his skull ‘ _He mutilated Anna. He burnt Mikhail alive.’_

Of course it’s just his fucking _sheets_ tangled around him and the pain is from jarring his stitches. Still, Dean has trouble calming his mind and getting back to sleep. Cas is _fine._ Gabriel is with him at the hospital and he isn’t in critical condition. Alistair is dead and Lucifer's probably getting worked over by Henriksen and Bobby and half the precinct, tag-team style, while Ellen supervises.

There’s nothing to worry about. Cas’s fine.

Dean swallows and stares at the lights of his alarm clock. 6 minutes pass unremarkably before he hears soft padding footsteps and then Assbut lands on the end of the bed with a muffled thud.

“Hey buddy.” Dean mutters, holding out a hand for him to sniff and butt at. “We found your daddy so you’ll get to go home soon.” He fells mildly ridiculous talking to an animal, but it’s the middle of the night and he’s alone in the safety of his dark bedroom. No one needs to know he’s referred to Cas as ‘daddy’ to his cat.

Assbutt meows once in vague catty response and then starts kneading at the bedding right beside Dean’s hip. The sound of his rattling purr and the solid warm lump of him when he settles is just the distraction he needs to get back to sleep. This time the only dreams he has are pleasant - the feel of chapped lips pressed against his and long fingers caught tight across the back of his neck.

***

Since Dean’s on medical leave, _enforced_ medical leave, he turns up at the station the next morning in ratty jeans and a hoodie to give his statement and snoop for the latest on Luca. Bobby rolls his eyes and shakes his head when he catches sight of him, muttering about under his breath about idjits who should be in bed, but Ellen deigns to give him a few minutes of her time.

“Malakhov isn’t talking.” she tells him bluntly. “But we have so much on him it doesn’t really matter at this stage. To be honest, it’s just gonna be a case of _what_ we wanna charge him with.”

“Kidnapping and attempted murder seems like a good place to start.” Dean tells her.

“Oh don’t you worry kid,” the Captain assures him with a dark smile. “Naomi’s having a field day with that.” She pauses. “You know, never did get along too well with that woman, but she’s pulling out all the stops to get that sick bastard good for snatching her second and screwing up her department.”

“Sounds about right. From what I know about her she’ll be beyond pissed at having Cas on sick leave. He basically runs her office for her.”

Ellen grunts in agreement. “Apparently there’s been extra ruckus over there. Naomi’s leaving no stone unturned, got some of the boys from intel over there trying to figure out how Luca had that bogus leave approved for Cas.”

“Gabriel said he had guys everywhere…” Dean trails off, not sure where everyone stands on the whole Gordan thing. _If_ Gabe had been right.

“Walker’s in cuffs.” Ellen tells him. “Internal Affairs were already on his ass apparently.” She frowns. “Gordan could be damned unpleasant, but he was a fine cop. Didn’t see that coming.”

Dean contemplates mentioning Bradbury’s theory involving Walker’s supposed appreciation for his butt, but decides it can wait. It’ll make a good story when he’s drunk maybe.

“So you and Cas gonna make it to dinner?” Ellen asks, returning to her seat.

“I never got a chance to ask him.” Dean replies on automatic.

Ellen gives in a weird look, like she can’t decide if she wants to smile or scowl. “Well I’m sure his bedside is your next stop this morning, so go ask him. After few days of hospital food my Christmas spread’ll seem like a feast fit for the gods.”

***

Cas is glaring at the television in his room when Dean finally makes it back to the hospital that afternoon. A glance at the screen shows what appears to be cheesy soft porn and Dean gives his friend his worst shit-eating grin. _“Why Cas,”_ he teases. “Never knew you had it in you.”

Cas groans and ignores the comment. “You’re here.” he says. “Thank god.” He waves at the screen with one bandaged and plastered hand. “My brother is an asshole. He took the remote and left the TV on the ‘Casa Erotica Network’.”

Dean chuckles but walks over to switch the screen off. It’s a fairly new model though and there are no buttons that Dean can see, so after a minute feeling around the plastic, he just yanks the power cord from the wall.

Cas sighs and slumps back into his pillows in relief as the moans and awful 80’s soundtrack get cut-off. “Thank you. I just spent the last 45 minutes watching terrible soft-core from at least 20 years ago featuring a babysitter and a pizzaman. I thought I’d have to call a nurse to sedate me.”

Dean chuckles and makes his way to the chair wedged beside Cas’s table. There are candy wrappers and a stack of magazines sitting on it. He flicks through them as he shifts them to the table. “Ladies Home Journal, The Christian Scientist--” He pauses as he unexpectedly hits a skin mag. “ _Bear_ \--” Cas groans. “—and--” he raises an eyebrow “… _Tigerbeat?_ ”

The scowl Cas is sporting is fierce. If his face wasn’t bruised to hell and his hair wasn’t sticking up like he’d been electrocuted, he’d look quite intimidating. “As I said - my brother is an _asshole_.”

Dean can’t resist, he holds up the issue of _Bear._ It’s got a huge hairy guy in a cowboy hat and chaps on the cover. “Gotta say, I picked Gabe as more of a _Blonde’n’Bouncy_ kinda guy myself. Remind me not to introduce him to Benny. Andrea’s the jealous type.”

Cas rolls his eyes but huffs out a short laugh.

“Guess you know what to get him for Christmas.” Dean continues, leafing through the magazine. “A life time subscription to ‘American Bear’.”

Cas’s eyes widen as if the suggestion is a revelation to him. “I _could_.” he says slowly, sounding excited.

He seems surprisingly… okay considering he’s had two surgeries on his hands already and from what Dean’s understands of skin grafts, had a doc take a cheese-grater/pastry cutter to his ass or something. “So how you doing? Gabe being an asshole non-withstanding?”

“I am on quite powerful medication at the moment.” he says, smiling far more easily than usual. “I am told I will be in significant pain for several weeks, but currently I feel little discomfort.”

“All went good though?” Dean asks. “Your hands and that?”

Cas nods. “There is some permanent damage to the nerves in my right hand, but nothing that should have significant impact on my day to day life. The main risk is that of infection.”

Dean winces remembering Alistair’s dirty blades and the crust of dried blood and pus on Cas’s wounds.

“I am on a course of potent antibiotics however and they appear to be working.”

“Good.” Dean says. “So when they gonna let you out?”

“A few days.” Cas tells him. “I have another surgery scheduled and they wish to keep my grafts and burns under observation since they require regular care.”

Dean nods. “So you’ll be out for Christmas then?”

“I should be.”

“You and Gabe got anything planned?”

“Gabriel must return home soon.” Cas says, shaking his head. “He left a subordinate looking after his bar and judging from the increasingly loud telephone conversations they are having, it's not going well.”

“Oh yeah, holidays must be busy for him.”

“Yes. He has attempted to convince me to join him, to take leave and ‘recover in paradise’ as he put it, but our definitions of paradise differ greatly.”

“What? Hanging around a tiki bar doesn’t strike you as a good time Cas?”

“I am recovering from second degree burns. I have dozens of stitches. Sunbathing and alcoholic beverages that are often set on fire do not appeal.”

“Yeeeah. I can respect that.” Dean agrees. “Still, I gotta admit, asshole or not… I bet any bar run by your brother would be pretty awesome.”

“Well shucks you ol’ sweet-talker you.” a familiar voice calls from behind him. Gabriel’s in the doorway with a bag of take out from the Thai place Cas likes in one hand and some Starbucks frappe thing covered in cream in the other. “Tell you what, drop in anytime and drinks are on the house. My mojito’s are to _die_ for. Famed across Honolulu.”

As he talks he folds out the table from the side of bed and starts unpacking Cas’s late lunch. From the smell it’s that penang curry he loves. Cas doesn’t look too interested, but gamely wedges a plastic spork between strapped fingers and a bandaged thumb.

Dean exchanges a look with Gabriel and at his warning expression refrains from offering to help. Clearly Cas has refused similar offers already. It’s frustrating to watch, but Cas does manage to eat, albeit very slowly and with many mishaps. Neither Dean nor Gabriel comment. Instead Gabriel tells a series of unlikely anecdotes featuring his younger brother that make Cas sigh, roll his eyes and glare alternately.

By the time Cas has eaten maybe half of his meal, his eyelids are drooping and he’s nodding his head. Dean leaves him to his rest and tells him he’ll stop by tomorrow.

Gabriel follows him out but waits until they are nearing the elevator to speak. “Are you gonna be alright to look after him the next few weeks?” he asks. “I can get back after New Years and give him a hand, but if I leave my bar in Chuck’s hands I’ll end up destitute.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You? Destitute? Figured you had plenty tucked away like Cas.”

“We got to keep a _tiny_ percentage of our father’s estate.” Gabriel says. “A sweetner to the deal, a few off-shore accounts that they couldn’t immediately link to anything illegal - but most of Cassie’s money come down through his mother - all perfectly legit. Anyway, I sunk all my ill-gotten gains into my bar. It ain’t cheap setting up an awesome hot spot in Waikiki.” He sounds defensive, like he’s upset he has to leave Cas and feels the need to explain himself.

“Course I’ll look after him.” Dean says. “He’s gonna be the worst patient ever though. Stubborn as a mule. Probably insist on going back to work the moment they discharge him.”

“Yeah well, don’t let him. Hide his shoes or something.”

Dean gives Gabriel a withering look _. “Hide_ _his shoes?_ ”

The shorter man shrugs unrepentantly. “Hey, it works. No way he’s gonna venture out in socks.” He pauses and frowns in thought. “Actually, hide the socks too.”

***

Ellen doesn’t allow Dean’s back on active for a _week._ Which is complete bullshit, since apart from being a bit stiff, Dean’s completely fine. He’s had stitches aplenty before, okay so never so many at the same time, but he knows how to take care of them and not stretch them out.

Bobby and Bradbury keep him broadly updated on Luca, and Henriksen is happy enough to give Dean details since he’s running the case. Feds have swooped in though, so Victor’s pretty sure a lot of the drugs charges are going to end up part of a Federal case. Kidnapping Cas though (and Dean), well Naomi’s not going to let anyone take those from her. Luca stole _her_ EA and kidnapped a _NYC_ cop so she wants him tried in NYC. By her.

But Victor tells him that the Feds aren’t the only ones wanting a piece of the last rogue Malakhov. Interpol and Scotland Yard have been nosing in, and there has been talk of extradition to a dozen different countries where he’s wanted on variations on the themes of drugs, human trafficking, murder, kidnapping… From what Victor tells him, he’d really spread his wings while he’d been hiding out in Europe. The parts about him dealing in _teenagers,_ girls and boys kidnapped or bought from their families to be sold as goddamn _slaves_ or locked up in Bratva brothels is almost enough to make Dean think the US should hand him over to Interpol. Then again, they’re too forward thinking over there, they’re be no lethal injection or cell next to Raphael waiting for Luca if he was tried in The Hague.

And really, Luca deserves the dirtier end of American Justice. A shitty cell in an overpopulated, run-down prison with guards who hate him and will turn a blind eye to whatever Raphael sends his way. Knowing the sort of payback that gets dealt inside, Dean’s pretty sure Luca will get first-hand experience about how those kids he sold felt before his brother’s done with him.

Gabriel flies out, though he keeps tabs on Cas, calling Dean to make sure his brother is being truthful about his recovery. Dean visits Cas every day since he’s not allowed back to work yet, and since Cas seems uncomfortable more than actually ill, he begrudgingly agrees to bring him his laptop and let him work without complaining too much about it. Talbot hasn’t taken the whole Luca thing very well and Kevin’s juggling both her and Cas’s caseload whilst trying to keep Samandiriel from having a mental break. Cas seems to prefer working from his hospital bed over watching daytime tv or reading, and it’s clear that he’s pretty desperately needed, so Dean lets him do his thing. If he were stuck in bed he’d be going crazy himself.

Bobby visits a grand total of once. The old guy _hates_ hospitals, so Dean’s actually amazed he comes at all. He gives Cas a truly hideous floral arrangement with the disclaimer that Ellen _made_ him bring it and that if he’s discharged that she’s expecting him on Christmas. It’s clear from his tone that he’s not offering an _invitation_ either.

Cas awkwardly accepts anyway, with a questioning glance at Dean, and Dean’s ridiculously relieved that _he’s_ not going to have to do the inviting anymore. God knows he’d been procrastinating over it long enough.

Bobby tells Cas that doesn’t look quite so much like roadkill anymore, makes a few disparaging remarks about Luca, and then apparently considering his work done, beats a hasty exit eyeing Cas’s nurse suspiciously.

“Captain Harvelle wishes me to attend her Christmas dinner?” Cas asks after the door shuts on Bobby.

Dean shrugs. “Yeah? She likes you man.”

“She has never tended such an invitation before.” Cas remarks in confusion.

“Well, you’re banged up and stuff. She probably just wants to make sure you have a decent Christmas.”

“I don’t want her pity.” Cas mutters darkly, glaring at his bandaged hands. “It is part of the reason I changed my name. Infamy and suspicion are one thing, _pity_ is quite another.”

Dean can’t help it, he gets kinda offended on Ellen’s behalf. “Quit being a dick Cas. She invited you ages ago, I just didn’t get a chance to pass it along before your brother went all maniacal douchebag on your ass.”

Cas blinks and raises his eyes to meet Dean’s. “What?”

“She invited me and Sam a while back, and said I should drag you along if you didn’t have better plans.” Not exactly how it went, but close enough.

“Oh.”

“She makes an _awesome_ turkey man.” Dean tells him. “Cranberry sauce from scratch, real mashed potatoes with lots of cheese and butter… and her desserts? I mean, I don’t even _like_ Christmas pudding – too much fruit – but hers? Goddamn _beautiful.”_

A little amused smile pulls at Cas’s mouth. “I’m not sure I want to come now.” he says. “Watching you moan and talk with your mouth full is liable to make me lose my dinner, regardless of how good it is.”


	5. Chapter 5

Cas gets discharged on the 23rd. The hospital is packed, the haphazard Christmas decorations strung across hallways and over nurse’s stations just adding to the general air of harried, festive exhaustion. Cas isn’t pleased that he’s being discharged into Dean’s _care and supervision,_ ( _‘I am an adult perfectly capable of caring for and supervising myself Dean’_ ), but Dean just tells him to shut his cakehole. He crosses his arms and glares out the window as the Impala winds its way back towards Dean’s apartment. His hands are still strapped and wrapped in gauze though, so he can’t actually cross his arms properly and he looks completely ridiculous.

Dean refrains from teasing him and lets him sulk in peace though. They’ve tapered off his meds quite a bit and Dean’s pretty sure he’s actually in a bit of pain and maybe missing the good stuff they were feeding into his drip.

“We’ll head over to yours and grab some clothes and stuff tomorrow okay?” he says as he unlocks his door.

Cas just grunts and follows him inside, shouldering the door closed loudly behind him.

Dean gives him an unimpressed look as it slams. “Oh quit it with the brooding already would you princess?” he says. “I’m giving you my bed – I changed the sheets and everything – and you _know_ with your hands all mummified like that you can’t do shit on your own yet, so stop acting like Sam when he was 14.”

Cas pouts and tries to cross his arms again.

Dean bites back a smile. “Cas, that’s the _exact_ face Sam made when I told him he was too old to have Ava Wilson over for a sleepover.”

The pout deepens. “Who is Ava Wilson?”

“Some girl that went to Sam’s middle school.” Dean tells him as he lines up Cas’s medication on the kitchen bench. “Sneaky little bitch. Tried to get him to run away with her and join the circus or some shit.”

There's a loud meow, a thud and then jingling as Assbutt trots out from Dean’s bedroom where he’d no doubt been sleeping on the pillows and getting his damned fur everywhere…

Cas’s face lights up in a smile and he bends down to pet him as his cat rubs against his shins and weaves in between his legs.

“I think he missed you.” Dean tells him.

Cas awkwardly picks him up and turns to sit on Dean’s couch, Assbut perched on his lap. He can’t really pat him with his hands wrapped, so he settles for stroking him with his arm. The cat purrs and rubs his face against every bit of Cas he can reach and then starts turning in his lap and kneading his thighs in a way that makes his owner wince. “Thank you for looking after him.” he says, bad mood forgotten.

“S’okay man. He’s a stinky little bastard, but he’s okay.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “If you change his litter daily and feed him appropriately there should be little odor.”

“Yeah yeah calm down. I’ve been giving his highness the five-star treatment, don’t you worry.”

Cas sends him a skeptical look, all squinty-eyed and suspicious. Dean can’t help but smile stupidly. The sight of Cas and Assbutt on his couch is a bit weird, but reassuring after the emotional rollercoaster of shitty feelings he’s suffered through recently. He swallows and clears his throat, busying himself looking over Cas’s medication and the instructions his doctor had written out for him. “Okay, so you need to take one of these,” He taps one of the smaller bottles. “--and two of these,” A larger bottle. “--with food at dinner time.” He picks up the biggest bottle. “And these ones are for before bed and again first thing.” He picks up the last bottle and frowns at the doctor’s scrawled notes. “I have no idea what the hell these ones are.”

“Those are just painkillers.” Cas tells him. “She said I could take up to four a day as required.”

“Oh.” Dean looks up at Cas over the doctor’s instructions. “You need one?”

Cas frowns in thought. “Perhaps later.” He pats Assbutt with the back of his wrist. “What I would like is a shower.”

Dean hums in thought. “What about your hands? Not meant to get 'em wet are we?”

“The doctor recommended plastic bags and timing any attempts at showering just prior to changing the dressings.”

“Okay yeah, that makes sense.” Dean agrees, but more glaring issues occur to him. “But um,” he gestures vaguely at Cas’s body. “How’re you gonna, you know… wash? I mean…” He swallows and tries very hard to keep his face and voice neutral. “Do you want some help?”

Cas sighs. “I think it will be necessary.” he admits. “My left hand has much more mobility than my right, but I can’t grip anything securely yet.” He meets Dean’s eyes with a slight flush to his cheeks. “If you don’t mind?”

“Course not man.” Dean replies, proud that it comes out so calm.

Cas nods jerkily then moves Assbutt so he can get up and head towards Dean’s bathroom. There are clean towels (for a change) since Dean knew Cas was coming, and he’d cleaned up a bit, so at least there’s that. “I’ll go grab some bags.” he says as Cas stands there awkwardly, looking around at the shower and medicine cabinet as if he’d never seen them before.

Dean returns with a few plastic carry bags. Cas has managed to get his jacket and shoes off and is attempting to remove his socks with his toes. Dean snorts then ducks down to help. Cas huffs, but he smiles as he lifts his feet in turn so Dean and tug them off. Since he’s already down there and he’s trying to keep this impersonal and as un-weird as possible, Dean unbuckles Cas’s belt and undoes his fly with quick efficient movements.

He hears Cas swallow as he tugs on the button of his jeans, but he doesn’t look up. Instead he tries very hard to ignore the fact that only other times he’s been on his knees undoing another man’s pants he’s been about to blow them. And that Cas as really distracting hips. Narrow and lean and… Dean shuts that thought off.

“Okay, shirt first, then we’ll wrap up your hands okay?” he says as he stands again.

Cas nods and tries to help as Dean carefully pulls his shirt free of each hand and then drags it over his head. The way his hair stands pretty much on end makes Dean grin for a second before his eyes flick down and he’s struck into pained silence at the… the _fucking state_ Cas is in. Old bruises flare yellow and faded purple over his pale skin and there’s gauze taped in big squares over his right shoulder, in the center of his chest, and over his ribs on his left-hand side. “Shit Cas.” he mutters. “Your brother is a fucking _dick.”_

Cas snorts. “I agree whole-heartedly.” He runs a finger along the gauze over his heart. “Although can’t say I will miss what he took.”

Dean picks up a plastic bag and slides it over Cas’s left hand. “Tattoos right?” he asks. “Special bratva ones?”

Cas grunts in agreement. “Mikhail insisted.”

Dean knows Cas probably doesn’t want to talk about it, but he’s curious and he needs the distraction. He carefully ties the bag and grabs a rubber band to hold it in place. “So what’d you have?”

Cas sighs. “The usual.”

“Stars, spiders and churches?” Dean guesses as he adjusts the plastic so it covers the entirely of Cas’s dressing.

“No church. I never served time. No spider either.” Cas replies. He gestures to a mess of sutures on his left hand shoulder. “There was a star here though.” he says before gesturing to the gauze on his left. “And another here, though that was worked into an epaulet I received for killing someone at my brother’s behest on my 16th birthday.”

Dean pauses at looks up at Cas. “Um, shit Cas. You, um, don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to…”

Castiel shrugs. “I often wanted to tell you about my family, but it is an awkward thing to bring up, and it was… refreshing… having a friend who didn’t know.”

Dean nods. “I can understand that.” he says, picking up another bag to wrap Cas’s right hand. “That’s a big skeleton to have in the closet.”

“You aren’t upset I kept it from you?” Cas asks.

“Well, maybe I was a little offended. For like, a minute after Sam filled me in… But shit Cas…” He shrugs. “I’ve got no idea what it must be like… And yeah, I can see why you’d want to keep that mess to yourself.”

“Thank you.” They are both silent for a minute or two as Dean works on his hand. “I also had a Madonna and child.” Cas tells him quietly. “-- symbolizing my youth and that I was born into crime, a crucifix as a mark of rank within the Bratva and…” Cas pauses and pulls his hand from Dean’s grip before turning. Dean’s eyes widen in shock as he takes in the huge tattoo across Cas's shoulders and back. “—wings to signify my _privileged_ status as a Malakhov.” he finishes bitterly.

Dean gets that Cas probably hates his tattoos, but, well, the wings are actually kinda awesome. Before he realizes what he’s doing he’s reached out and traced the line of one from the arch of Cas’s shoulder blade to the small of his back. He shivers and twitches under the touch, skin pebbling as he turns to look at Dean with wide blue eyes over his shoulder. Dean snatches his hand back. “Sorry.” he mutters. “Just. I… Um…” _what?_ he asks himself, _I’m weirdly and inappropriately turned on by the tattoos you have as a memento of your fucked up childhood??_ “Sorry.” he says again.

Cas turns back and holds out his hand mutely so Dean can finish fastening the second bag. When he’s done he clears his throat. “What about your chest?” he asks, gesturing towards the gauze and lines of sutures. Cas shrugs. “The dressings appear waterproof and they are supposed to be changed daily anyway…”

Dean nods. “Cool, so we’ll dry em off and change them after your shower.”

He turns and fiddles with the tap. “Only lukewarm right?” he asks, even though he’s well aware that you’re meant to avoid hot water with stitches and wounds. And burns no doubt.

“That is correct.” Cas agrees and Dean can hear him shimmying out of his jeans. He focuses on getting the water to a bearable level of tepid and tries very hard not to imagine if Cas has left his underwear on (shorts from what he’d seen undoing his fly). He’s actually proud of himself for keeping his eyes above Cas’s neck when he turns back around. Out of his peripheral vision he can see nothing but pale skin, but somehow he manages not to look. The bandages and bruises he _can_ see go a long way to keeping him behaving. Cas is injured. The last thing he needs is his so-called friend checking him out when he’s at his most vulnerable. He steps back and makes room for Cas to step under the spray of water.

He keeps his back to Dean for a moment, gasping at the shock of the too-cool water on his skin, and probably the sting of it on his stitches. Without Cas to see him stare, Dean finds he can’t help himself, and his eyes skim up and down the lines of Cas’s back, his goddamn _perfect_ ass and his toned legs greedily. There aren’t any bruises or bandages to jolt him back to reality, just acres of pale, _wet_ skin. The tattooed wings, unexpected as they are, sure aren’t doing much to put him off either. Cas leans his head back to let his hair get wet and lets out another little gasp.

Dean bites his lip as his traitorous brain comes up with a vivid image of him making a similar noise and Dean slides into him from behind, gripping those slim hips and making his muscles flex and stretch under those dark wings, maybe leaning forward and licking sweat off his neck… In his jeans his dick twitches and Dean curses himself inwardly. What kind of sick jerk fantasies about his friend when he’s covered in stitches with goddamn plastic bags on his hands cause he’s been friggin’ _tortured?_

The shame is enough to get his libido well and truly under control and Dean grabs the shower gel and puff but hesitates as he considers the logistics of how he’s actually going to help Cas wash. It’s plain that Cas can’t really use his hands, and the obvious thing would be for Dean to just get _into_ the shower with him, but that doesn’t seem like the sort of thing he should do without a specific invitation. “Um…”

Cas frowns at the puff as he apparently ponders similar issues. “It would be easiest if you simply showered with me.” Cas says, likes he’s suggesting something totally mundane, not mutual nudity and soap.

“Um. Okay. Sure.” Dean replies, putting down the gel and puff. He removes his clothes on automatic, but hesitates when he gets down to his shorts. After a few seconds of indecision he decides wet underwear is totally preferable to being completely naked with Cas in the small shower cubicle. He steps in beside Cas before he can overthink anything, and gets straight into the washing stuff. He scrubs Cas’s back first, standing pressed against the glass so there’s as much room as possible between them.

Even though he’s careful, the mesh of the puff catches on a stitch when he moves on to Cas’s arms, so it’s with a detached sense of horror that Dean finds himself soaping up Cas’s chest and stomach with his damn _hands_. It’s only by concentrating on the bruises and nasty lines of black sutures that he’s able to keep any sort of grip on himself. After he’s finished with Cas’s torso he shampoos and conditions his hair for him, and Cas seems to enjoy that so much Dean can’t resist massaging the stuff into his scalp a little more than is strictly necessary.

But then he’s done with Cas above the waist and all that remains are his legs and well…

He looks up. Cas is blushing and looks about as uncomfortable as he feels. It’s reassuring. “So, um, do you want me to…?” Dean points downwards but doesn’t actually look.

Cas purses his lips and somehow manages to turn even redder. Instead of responding he just lifts his arms to bring his wrapped hands into sight and raises an eyebrow.

Dean glances at them as the shower spray patters loudly on the plastic. “Um, yeah okay. Good point.” He steals himself. “So I’ll just…?”

Cas gives a jerky nod and Dean decides to just get it over with. He steps back a little and pulls at Cas’s shoulder until he turns around. The moment his back and those inky wings are facing him again, Dean crouches down and quickly soaps up Cas’s legs. He tries not to really… _look,_ but he still notices that Cas’s inner thighs have been shaved, cause it’s kinda obvious and looks weird and feels prickly under his fingers.

For a minute he’s confused, but then he realizes that the faint rectangular reddish areas, like a minor rash, must be the places they took the skin grafts from. He’s not sure if they will be sore or not, so he gives them only a very light wash. Cas doesn’t flinch or anything, which he takes as a good sign. Standing again he gives Cas’s butt a quick once over, looking up at the ceiling, (which needs to be bleached, there’s mildew spreading in the corner), and trying to imagine the sort of attention to detail he’d be comfortable with if their roles were reversed. It’s _weird weird weird_ though because he’s touching _Cas’s ass,_ something he’s fantasized about in much sexier scenarios, but thankfully it’s all over in a matter of seconds and Cas turns back around without being told.

Dean squirts some more gel onto his hands, lathers them up in a businesslike manner and then crouches down again, repeating the process. He feels weirdly detached, like it’s someone else kneeling in front of Cas and washing his _kneecaps,_ someone else standing and awkwardly rinsing ‘Mint and Lime Splash!’ shower gel through _his_ _pubes_ and getting ‘hands on’ confirmation that Cas is circumcised,but then he catches Cas’s eye and he looks so… absolutely mortified, just _bright red_ with it, that suddenly Dean’s choking on an undignified snort of laughter.

It’s too bizarre.

He can’t help it.

“I’m soaping your junk Cas.” he says breathlessly before he loses it completely and has to lean back against the tiles to stop himself falling over or something.

Cas glares at him. “You’re a complete _asshole_ Dean.” he snaps, but his lips are twitching and when Dean waggles his eyebrows at him, he starts laughing as well. “This is ridiculous.” he says after a minute.

Dean just nods because he still can’t stop laughing. He holds up his hands and after a few attempts manages to gasp out: “ _I cleaned your butthole Cas…”_ with all the giggling maturity of a 12 year old.

Cas kicks him in the shin. Dean has no doubt that if he’d been able to he’d slap him a few times too. “If you ever tell anyone about this…” he threatens.

Dean takes a big breath. “Oh yeah Cas, first thing Monday morning I’m gonna debrief the whole department. Tell Bobby all about how I gave you a _sexy sponge bath_.”

“…You didn’t have to use your _hands_.” Cas shoots back, raising an eyebrow.

And _shit_ , Cas is right, he could have used the puff for everything below the waist - there was no threat of catching a suture down there and absolutely no need for Dean to get hand’s on… “And you could have _reminded me_.” he replies. “I was too busy freaking out over having to soap up my best friend’s crack and sack.”

“You are crude and insufferable.” Cas huffs at him before pushing past to step out of the shower, failing completely at looking dignified since he’s got a Gas’n’Gulp bag on one hand, a Seven Eleven on the other and soap suds on his butt. He tries to snag a towel, but with his hands all wrapped up all he manages to do is pull one off the rack and onto the tiles. Dean snorts and Cas glares at him like it’s _his_ fault.

Dean turns off the water and steps out beside him, snagging another towel. He then shoves it over Cas’s head and rubs at his hair like he’s a kid, just to be annoying.

“Dean!” Cas snaps.

Sniggering a little, Dean stops being an asshole and shakes the towel out before wrapping it around Cas’s hips. “Okay okay.” he says. “There you go princess.”

Cas is still glaring. “I’ll get you back for all of this you realize.”

Dean just grins and grabs another towel, gesturing for Cas to spin. He does so with a long-suffering sigh. Dean sponges off his back and then more carefully dabs off the front of his chest, making sure the towel doesn’t catch on anything. A few of the dressings are waterlogged, but like Cas said, they seem mostly waterproof. Still. “I’ll redo these now?” he suggests.

“That would probably be best.” Cas agrees.

He wraps a towel around his own hips before following Cas to the bedroom where Cas’s meagre luggage from the hospital, including the dressings, were dumped over the bed earlier. Without being told Cas sits on the edge and begins picking at the old ones with his slightly less fucked up left hand.

Dean goes through the bag of supplies and gets out what they need. The burns look ugly and the small areas of grafted skin look… freaky… like mesh or the lattice top on a _pie…_ but everything is dry and nothing looks angry and red or otherwise troublesome. He zones out as he carefully applies the appropriate creams and dressings, taping everything securely in place.

Re-dressing Cas’s hands is more complicated. There are full on _bolts_ through a few of his fingers on his right hand, and lines of neat little sutures as well as plastic split thingies to be strapped back in place, so by the time they are both finished Dean’s air-dried.

He grabs some jeans and shirt then yanks open a drawer containing t-shirts and sweats and other comfy sorts of things. “Grab something from in here to sleep in.” he tells Cas. “You gonna be okay to get dressed?”

Cas nods. “It’s just buttons and zips I can’t manage.”

“Cool, I’ll see what’s around to eat.”

***

Dean’s standing in the kitchen trying to decide between pasta and frozen pizza, when Cas reappears in his fresh clothes. He turns to ask if he has a preference, (Dean’s leaning towards the pizza), but the words catch in his throat. Cas’s wearing an old t-shirt of his, a Metallica one from a show he went to years ago that he knows has worn super soft and thin over a few hundred trips through the wash. It’s big on him, displaying a tempting amount of pale skin and the intriguing hollow of his throat. _Quit perving_ Dean tells himself. _You just saw him naked. Get a grip. Cas’s messed up. You’re meant to be his friend._

He clears his throat and makes himself keep steady, not creepy eye contact. The way Cas’s hair is dark and curling from his shower, still damp cause Dean did a shitty job drying it, and his cheeks are a little flushed makes it _really_ hard though. “Pasta or pizza?” he asks.

Cas hums thoughtfully and walks around the breakfast bar and into the kitchen proper. As he rounds the corner Dean sucks in a breath.

He’s wearing boxers. Dean’s boxers. Dean’s boxers that he wore to sleep the night before to be precise. And Cas must have known that. Dean told him to help himself to the clothes in his drawers, and that’s where the shirt came from, but those boxers were scrunched up in the middle of his bed where he’d tossed them this morning. Obviously worn.

Cas stops right next to Dean and hums again, leaning down a little to peer into the fridge. He’s standing so close their hips are _almost_ touching, Dean’s jeans just barely brushing against the silk of Cas’s _(Dean’s!)_ boxers. He says something and picks up a pack of ravioli, inspecting the label, but Dean can’t hear what he’s saying because his brain has dissolved into a fuzz of white noise because Cas is _wearing his boxers_ and the dark silk currently curved over Cas’s ass, (and oh god he’s _touched that ass),_ was caressing his own butt that very morning.

… Dean’s _dick_ touched those shorts.

Friends don’t share clothes that way.

He needs to get Cas’s attention, needs to know _why_ Cas would do something as insufferably hot and kinda kinky as put on Dean’s underwear. That weird limbo that he’s in though, that ‘sort of in love with his best friend’ place where he’s not meant to touch or look too hard, means that when he reaches out to touch him, he ends up grabbing at the ravioli instead of Cas’s arm.

Cas glances up at him and frowns. “Dean?” His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.

Before he can stop it, Dean has a sudden and very vivid flashback of that tongue licking at _his_ bottom lip instead. He nods stupidly, which does nothing to explain to Cast why he’s tugging on the ravioli and gaping at him like a fish, but there are lots of things trying to come out of him all at once and he can’t for the life of him get anything like real words out of his throat. It’s all memories of Cas naked and soapy under his hands, that weird _kiss_ he gave him back at Luca’s hideout, and _why is he wearing Dean’s boxers?!_

Cas straightens and raises an eyebrow. He’s not making eyes at Dean or anything, not fluttering his eyelashes or pouting or, or, _anything -_ he’s just… looking. Waiting. All intent and Cas-like. Squinty and a little bit pissed off looking because that’s his face’s default setting despite his mood. Dean’s heart is thundering and he knows that he has to do _something,_ that this, standing in front of the fridge with a packet of ravioli clutched between them, is actually them having some sort of profound _moment,_ but he doesn’t know _what._

Cas leans a little closer, looking a bit concerned now. “Dean? Are you alright?”

No. He’s really not. Cas is too close and not close enough. Dean wants to lift his arms and cross that final distance between them, pull him closer still, drag Cas into his arms past all acceptable boundaries of ‘friends’ and crush him tight. Keep him there. He swallows, tries to get a grip of himself. Cas just had a uniquely fucked up and traumatic experience, the last thing he needs his best friend throwing himself at him.

But he’s wearing Dean’s pants. _Why is he wearing Dean’s pants!?_

Maybe he just honestly didn’t realize? Maybe he doesn’t have the same sort of hangups about sharing clothes as most people? Maybe they looked comfy so he just grabbed them?

Cas frowns down at where Dean still has an iron grip on the goddamn ravioli. “We _can_ have pizza if you prefer.” he says.

Up this close he can smell his shampoo on Cas and count his dark eyelashes and it’s really not fair that Cas is so fucking obliviously _gorgeous,_ since that must be the reason Dean finds himself blurting out stupidly “I don’t want pizza I want you.”

And _Jesus Christ._ What the _fuck_ is wrong with him!?

… He’s turned into a character from a Renee Zellweger film.

Cas freezes, eyes rising to meet Dean’s and Dean, who can usually read Cas like a book, has _no fucking idea_ what he’s thinking.

“Shit. Fuck.” He swallows and takes a step back, banging against the fridge door behind him and making the jars and bottles there rattle. “Sorry.”

Cas is just staring at him, and Dean wants to crawl into a hole and die because he’s acting like a bumbling moron and now Cas knows that at the very least Dean’s got some stupid crush on him. He just prays that’s all he thinks it is. If Cas figures out that Dean’s in big stupid _love_ with him, well, there’s no way he’ll want to stay friends and the thought of losing that, the best friend he’s ever had, is fucking torture. He has to fix this. Now. Before Cas jumps to (correct) conclusions.

“You’re my best friend man.” he says. “I was… _so worried._ I just…” he finally thinks to drop the fucking ravioli and grips Cas’s shoulder. His left side. The one that’s skin-graft free. His thumb slots against his collarbone in some serendipitous perfect fit. Like Dean’s hand was meant to be there, holding Castiel.

And oh god does he have brain damage? What the hell is wrong with him? “I don’t give a fuck about the pizza. I’m just, you know, glad you’re here. To um, eat it?”

Cas is frowning like he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening, what the drivel coming out of Dean’s mouth means, and he stares at him for a long, extremely awkward moment. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s cornered between the door of the fridge and Cas, Dean would’ve ran.

There’s a noise and Dean flinches as the pack of ravioli hits the tiles and then Cas has an arm slung around him and is tugging him in and kissing him. Dean flounders, too shocked to really participate in their second kiss, and the jars and bottles of mustard or whatever rattle behind him in their shelves as Cas pushes him back.

It’s very different to the last kiss Cas gave him, still demanding, but not as rough and desperate, nothing more than the press of Cas’s lips and the pull of his arm where he’s caught at Dean’s neck. When he draws back Dean’s still panting like he’s run a marathon though.

Cas is frowning again, a determined look on his face. “I’m in love with you.” he says like they’re discussing the fucking weather.

Dean gapes. “ _You are?”_

Cas nods. “Very much so.”

“Fuck. _Fuck._ ” Dean doesn’t know how to process that exactly, he’s gone all giddy and stupid and suddenly he’s touching Cas, because if Cas _loves_ him then he’s allowed, and he’s warm and soft and when Dean tugs him closer, (carefully though, mindful of all those bandages he just reapplied), Cas lets out this relieved little sigh and it’s that more than anything that convinces Dean that this is real.

He kisses him. It’s not very coordinated and he stumbles over the goddamn ravioli, but Cas is clinging to him, opening for him, warm and minty with toothpaste and fucking _perfect._ One kiss turns into another and another and Dean tries to slow it down, but Cas is pushy and _really_ distracting and Dean’s never had much self-restraint. They stumble across the kitchen and Dean gets him shoved up against the bench. Cas’s erection is obvious through the thin boxers, and Dean slots a thigh in between his legs and grinds up against him. Cas rolls his hips and lets out a filthy moan. _“Dean.”_

Dean’s dick throbs in response. “Fuck. _Fuck._ ” Hearing Cas saying his name like that, seeing him, touching him, Dean feels like a twitchy teenager. Like he’s gonna come in his pants. Fortunately Cas seems just as desperate since he yanks Dean back in for another kiss and then bites and licks his way across Dean’s jaw and down the line of his neck. They fumble through kisses and then at Cas’s frustrated urging, Dean strips off his shirt. Cas seems to be compensating for his fucked up hands by exploring Dean with his mouth instead and it’s ridiculous how much of a turn on it is. Cas moans when Dean scratches his fingers lightly down his back and when he bites at the bolt of his jaw his hips lift up and grind against Dean’s.

He fumbles at the fastening of Dean’s jeans, apparently horny enough to forget that his hands are a write-off, and Dean figures that sort of dedication deserves some sort of reward, so he reaches down and shoves _his_ boxer’s over Cas’s hips, wrapping his hand around Cas’s dick for the second time, this time without any hesitation or awkwardness at all.

The noise that Cas makes, the way he jerks against Dean in a full body shudder as he strokes him, smearing precome messily between his fingers, makes Dean’s own dick throb in his jeans. He hasn’t even been touched yet but he’s so turned on it’s almost embarrassing. It’s been ages since he’s been with anyone save his hand and he’s wanted Cas _so long_ that just getting to touch him like this is almost too much _._ Dean lets go of him long enough to unzip his jean and get his own aching dick in his hand before he explodes.

He gets them lined up and rolls his hips, the friction a little too dry, but so so good. Cas gasps, his hips thrusting up into Dean’s fist and his head arching back, and Dean takes the opportunity to suck a bruise into that tempting bit of flesh where pale neck meets shoulder. He moans and shudders and spreads his legs, letting Dean grind up against him and bites at his mouth as he kisses him.

Dean wants more, wants to lay Cas down on his bed, strip him and taste every inch of him, stretch him open and sink into him, but he can’t stop. His jeans are caught around his thighs and he’s trying not to touch Cas’s chest or be too rough and it’s awkward as fuck, but Cas is kissing him and touching him, panting and moaning for him and Dean couldn’t stop for a fucking earthquake.

“Cas - Cas _fuck._ ” His orgasm catches him by surprise, wet and hot between them and way Cas fucking moans as if he’s the one coming has Dean gasping and clawing at his hips, trying to somehow get closer.

It takes a moment for his thoughts to clear, and when they do he’s instantly aware of the fact that Cas is rubbing against him insistently and staring at him like he wants to eat him. Dean kisses him, jerks him off lazily for a minute, hand slick with his own come, and then drops to his knees.

Cas’s breath catches audibly and Dean looks up at him with a smirk. Cas’s eyes are bugging out of his face and he looks like he might have an aneurysm. He wasn’t sure since Cas is a hell of a lot classier than the dudes he’s picked up at bars and clubs, but it turns out he’s like every other guy Dean’s been with - he’s _definitely_ spent some time thinking about Dean’s pretty mouth wrapped around his cock. In this instance Dean’s _more_ than happy to oblige.

Leaning forward he takes Cas back in hand, pumping him a few times, and then teases him, letting his breath wash over him as he looks up from under his eyelashes like he’s now 99% sure Cas has fantasized. From the way Cas’s eyes are bulging he’s right on the money. When he drags his tongue wetly over the head of Cas’s dick his hips jerk and he lets out an honest-to-god whimper.

His chest is heaving and he’s looking at Dean like he's hungry. Dean’s dick gives a feeble twitch at the sight and his mouth actually waters. He laps at him, getting Cas nice and wet and coaxing more awesome little whimpers and moans from him and then swallows him down, eager to feel him thick and hot against the back of his throat. Cas gasps, rising up on his toes a little and stares down, transfixed, at where his dick is disappearing between Dean’s lips.

He’s done this a lot. And Dean’s never minded it. Going down on someone, girl or boy, can be a major turn on. Pulling someone apart and watching them loose it is hot as hell and a major ego boost. And he’s pretty good at it. Got plenty of practice in his early twenties when he was perpetually horny and basically beating guys off with a stick. But despite that, despite things guys have presumed about his ‘cocksucking lips’, sucking dick was something he did as reciprocation or foreplay. Even when he was younger and inevitably the twinkiest looking thing in a ten-mile radius, he was never one of those guys that got off kneeling in the men’s room with a mouthful of dick.

But this is different. He’s not giving Cas head because Cas got him off and he owes him, or because Cas is hot and he wants to fuck him, he’s doing it because he _wants it._ The last time he was so hot to get someone off with his mouth was probably Lisa Braden when he was 19. He wants to _taste_ it when Cas comes, wants him in every possible fucking way. He wants to ruin him for everyone else, blow his fucking mind and make him _his._

He uses every trick in the book for Cas, pulls out all the stops and by the time he’s blowing him in earnest, bobbing his head and palming his balls, Cas is panting and moaning his name. Dean likes that, likes it a lot, but the broken noise Cas makes when Dean tilts forwards and lines himself up so he can take him down his throat is fucking _awesome._ Dean holds himself still for a moment, lips wrapped around the base of Cas’s dick, and gets used the feeling, makes sure he’s not going to gag.

The first few movements are slow and careful, but Cas still appears to be hyperventilating. _“Dean!”_

And oh yeah, he _really_ likes hearing Cas say his name like that.

Cas’s eyes flick from Dean’s mouth to his eyes, to his mouth and back again, like he can’t choose between them. Dean tugs at his hips and hums around him in encouragement. Hesitantly at first, Cas starts rocking into Dean’s movements, fucking Dean’s mouth with more care than most people would show a virgin on her wedding night. Dean moans and swallows repeatedly around the head of his cock, trying to snap his control. _“Fuck.”_ Cas moans, all low and breathless. “Fuck Dean - your _mouth_ –"

Dean digs his fingers into Cas’s hips and starts pulling him in to the movement of his head, encouraging him, telling him without words that he can be rougher.

“Oh fuck Dean…”  Cas groans. “Can I…?”

Dean pulls off with a pornographic slurp. “Fucking fuck my face Cas.” he demands, voice already hoarse.

Cas seems to forget how to breathe for a moment, but when Dean swallows him down again it whooshes out in a throaty groan and then he dissolves into what Dean assumes is Russian. He rocks his hips more purposefully, getting rougher as he gets closer to orgasm. Dean watches greedily, taking in every detail as Castiel unravels for him. He’s flushed and gorgeous and the way he’s looking at Dean, the way he’s mumbling in broken snatches of Russian or whatever like he’s forgotten English is without a doubt, _the_ hottest thing Dean’s ever seen in his entire life. His jaw is aching and his throat is starting to feel raw, but he’d happily choke himself on Cas’s dick if it meant keeping this up. Fuck, they could etch it on his gravestone: ‘ _Here lies Dean Winchester, taken too young, suffocated on Cas’s dick, aged 31.’_ and he’d be totally fine with it.

Cas swears, _fuck fuck fuck -_ and then what Dean is pretty sure is Russian for fuck - jerks his hips forward and back in a few rough thrusts, and then he’s coming, moaning Dean’s name and pulsing down his throat. He’s too deep for Dean to taste him, and he’s weirdly desperate to, so Dean pulls off and lets the final spurts of Cas’s orgasm catch on his lips.

Dean chases it with his tongue and Cas groans weakly. It tastes unremarkable, generic ‘come’ flavor, slightly bitter and warm and slippery, but he still moans at the tastes like a whore because it's _Cas._

Cas sways backwards, slumping against the counter. Shaking his head he looks down at Dean in a mix of awe and shock. “ _Jesus_ Dean.” he pants, waving a bandaged hand as if he can’t think of words adequately describe Dean’s skill.

Dean sits back, wiping a hand over his spit and come slick chin and can’t resist the smug smirk that tugs at his lips. “I know, I’m awesome right?” he guesses, his voice coming out raspy and fucked out.

Cas’s expression darkens at the sound of it. Dean rises to his feet, slightly light-headed, and is instantly pulled into a kiss. Cas shameless palms his ass as much as he’s able with his bandaged hands and then rubs his hip against his renewed erection. “I want to go to bed.” he says, then murmurs something Dean can’t follow but that sounds so dirty he groans and grinds up against him.

“Shit Cas, I hope that’s Russian for ‘I want you to fuck me’.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

***

It’s all fucking  _Bobby’s_ fault.

He refuses promotion for the millionth time and as a result, Dean’s the poor shmuck that ends up in Walker’s old office.

Okay, so some of the perks are… alright. The pay’s pretty awesome, and so is getting to tell everyone what to do, but having Ellen ride his ass day in day out about the number of open cases on the books and paper work and the  _budget_ and other tedious shit is pretty much the worst thing ever. Especially since there is nothing  _remotely_ like professional distance between them and she thinks nothing of whacking him across the back of the head or calling him a ‘goddamn moron’ when he fucks something up.

Henriksen never has to put up with that shit.

Dean suddenly gets why Bobby’s spent the last decade actively avoiding Lieutenant.

So Dean’s having what’s shaping up to be a typically frustrating day for him. Bobby and Bradbury have some creep they’ve been chasing for  _months_ down in an interrogation room, but they didn’t exactly dot their i's and cross their t’s to get him there, and Ellen’s just spent half an hour ragging him about some  _budget_ blow-out he couldn’t care less about. About the only highlight is that Sam’s called.

It’s another small perk. Being at a desk more often means actually getting to slack off on occasion. He and Bradbury might sometimes log onto their respective steam accounts on quiet afternoons and spend a few hours blowing each other up online. And Dean might sometimes call Sam and complain about how bored he is and how  _annoying_ all his detectives are.

Like right now.

 _“So as of the 12 th I’m officially debt free.” _Sam’s telling him,  _“Well, student loan free. I still have my visa… but mostly I use that for--"_

“Porn?” Dean guesses. “Online poker?”

_“No, shit like booking flights to visit your rude fatass. God knows why I bother.”_

“You know you love me Sammy.”

 _“Stop calling me that.”_  Sam insists, for what must be the millionth time. Dean can hear the smile in his voice though.  _“I’m a grown man, not a 12-year old with chubby cheeks.”_

“You’ll always be my sweet little chipmunk-cheeked Sammy-kins to me,  _Sammy._ ”

Sam sighs over the line.  _“Oh whatever dickface. So anyway, my next paycheck is all mine, so I’m planning a bit of a celebration.”_

“Yeah?” Dean asks curiously. “In LA?”

 _“U-huh.”_ There’s a loaded pause.  _“Jess is coming… And some of my friends from Stanford. I’d like it if you and Cas could come over as well?”_

“When’s the big day?”

_“It’ll be the 30 th. The Saturday.”_

“We should be able to swing it. No guarantee I’ll be able to separate Cas from his damn laptop long enough for any actual ‘partying’ though.”

Sam says something in response, but Dean doesn’t hear him on account of Cas bursting into his office with a face like a thundercloud.

“You told Singer to use a  _parking_ ticket as a warrant!?” he demands, loud enough that that the entire department must have heard.

Dean shrugs and makes a ‘what can you do?’ gesture with one hand.

“His lawyers are having a field day!”

“I’m sure it was just a mix up, the warrant  _was_ executed—"

“Yes Dean! It was! Twenty minutes  _after_ they made the arrest!” Cas looks like he might be about to burst a few blood vessels.

Dean uncovers the mouthpiece of the phone. “Ahh… I’ll call you back.”

On the other end Sam snorts _. “Good luck with that Dean.”_

Cas still hasn’t bothered to close the door, instead he’s thrown his briefcase onto the couch along the back wall of Dean’s office and is pacing. “You’re even worse than Walker! And he was in the pay of a mass-murderer!”

“Hey hey now,” Dean says. “I’m not  _that_ bad.”

Cas glares at him and lifts one hand, reaching towards him like he’d like to throttle him. Dean swallows and shifts in his seat, trying to pretend he’s not having a totally inappropriate response to Cas’s tantrum. Of course, Cas notices straight away. His eyes narrow and steps forward pointing his finger. “I can’t  _believe_ you Dean Winchester!” he hisses. “I thought this promotion might make you grow up, start to follow at least  _some_ of the rules, but no!” He throws his hands up in the air and groans.

Dean stands and carefully crosses to shut his door. He then glares out the window at his gawking,  _nosy_ fucking detectives, and flicks the blinds shut. Cas has thrown himself onto the couch and is lying there melodramatically, one arm thrown over his eyes. “I’m going to lose my job. Or have a stroke. Probably both.” He shifts his arm and squints at Dean. “And it will be entirely your fault.”

Dean walks over and perches beside him on the couch. “Aw Cas baby, you know I only bend the rules when I have to. I’ve been trying to be a good little Lieutenant for you, not fuck up cases and ruin your career or give you an aneurysm.”

“You already gave me an ulcer.”

Dean pouts. “That was not  _entirely_ my fault and I said I was sorry!” Cas just mutters something in Russian. “How was I supposed to know Gabe would take me seriously when I said he could come stay with us during off season?”

Cas just glares.

Dean huffs. “Look, he had a new vic, Bobby and Bradbury were 99% sure the kid’d be toast within 5 minutes. He was cornered, he knew it, he was gonna off him since he was fucked anyway.”

Cas eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t say anything.

“A choice like that, I’m gonna trust my guys’ instincts. I can’t let someone  _die_ over paperwork Cas, and that’s never gonna change.”

Cas sighs explosively. “I suppose. In such a circumstance I can overlook your disregard for procedure. But the first time I have to get…  _creative_ to cover for anything less than the loss of innocent life, it will the last time and I will _report you_ , not cover for you Dean Winchester.”

Dean smirks. He’s not worried, he doesn’t let his guys cut corners like that for anything that isn’t dire. “Oh Novak,” he drawls, “You know I get all  _tingly_ when you get all riled up like that…”

Cas rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath that Dean can’t follow.

“ _Oh yeah_ , talk angry Russian to me baby.”

Cas huffs out a laugh. “You’re an idiot."


End file.
